Saying sooth with a crooked tooth
Turn a crooked time of day
Taken in with a nervous grin
And oxygen
And androgens
And mouths that buckle and break
Soft side, leaning away at your knees
Eyes cast downward by seven degrees
Untamed by the meal that you made
And the minutes that make up the day
Full speed ahead
At the foot of your bed
There are feet that are longing for fingers instead
"Makes sense," you said
With your hands on my head
These are hands that are longing to bristle and bend
And go to sleep with the words that you keep
At half past ten
With pathogens
And paths that take you away
Outside, roadways are ready to freeze
Ice kept colder by several degrees
Unnamed, will it still sound the same
In the movements that make up your day
Count it off
Happy new year