summer (butcher two)


saturday night 

the summer's here

under clothes hands disappear

buttons slip 

they've gone stray

with them thoughts have gone away

too far to see from the back seat

where sleeping is the enemy


in our hands 

is more sense

than butchered words we don't understand

to ourselves

our skin sticks

our palms sweat

our teeth click

flashing glimpses do not see

when daylight is the enemy


i can barely see your blue eyes

i can barely make them out

it's alright in this red

your mouth tastes perfectly like cigarettes

it's ok 

it is fine

there's nothing just one thing on our mind


saturday night

summer's here

the sound of breath is in our ears

guess the coast is completely clear

into water we disappear