The Count of Three

To tell a truth of blood and wine

Takes tears of liquid steel and a lazy tongue

Clenched fists, holding on to a hope that fades

Into the grave, sieving through the cracks like fine sand

I kissed your mind and our souls collided

So I’ll give you to the count of three

‘Til you think of me.

We can call it even on this Gray afternoon

As you catch my breath with your velvet voice

And my stipulations drown like a forced pill

I surrender my injured body to your whispers’ heat

But razor-like palms hold my world as I knew it

I’ll give you to the count of three

‘Til you dream of me.

Counting the dying suns of yesterdays

Lost in trailing thoughts of tomorrows

I suddenly get the angel view of today

Mistaking whores for healers in heels

Hearing sooty truths, believing white lies

I give you to the count of three

‘Til you come to me.

But the dragons are mine to slain

The laments are mine to sing

None can rescue me in the labyrinth of my fears

The chimera slowly retreats and your presence dissipates

That’s when I realise that the memory of you must burn, alive.
One, two, three.