Suburban Decay

Reality formed at the parting of your lips,

Summoning me to your shrine.

So desperately afraid, 

I await your embrace.

I had never felt so alive.

Through the heavy smoke,

Our show must begin.

I am in awe;

Struck silent by the softness,

Of your ink-laced skin.

While in years to come I’ll remember you,

Doused in the hue of warm stage lights.

I’ll love you,

Like I could love nobody else.

My perfect stranger in the night.

Someday I will dream of you,

Of when we were young and not burdened by doubt.

But for now we are just two slow dancers,

The Last ones out.

-Rob Padfield