great expectations.

i exhale and your face appears amid the cloud that named you.i sit back write knee over the left, watching in humility as your nose contorts and entwines sideways like the lips that i trace when i place my lips up to kiss you; 

your hands, a sort of chronometer, taught to fear daylight like the little girl missing from the swing that still swings (you). i sit in amusement, appreciating the rain that brought you, bellowing at the moon that may take you away, and the stars that will wish on you as they watch you spurt in darkness.i can almost smell their chortle.i can almost hear ...you.YOU.you.

and so what.we are who we are because people don't change.people conform into twisted condensation, while others decide what such emotional upheaval is going to portray. 

we're all a bunch of clouds, worshipping some sort of idiotic sun society presumes to be happiness.well, fcku the clouds, because i want to paint the portrait of love...and paint it completely undeserved.i want to paint it to look exactly like you. completely faceless.