Twenty-four hours ago I was neck deep in the sauce, forgetting the small brown hairs on her upper lip.
Forty-eight hours ago I was crawling into bed, already forgotten the way that we'd wake up together. I'de get up earlier, all the time, every time.
At some blurry minute in the morning, all the broken things I forgot came back in the perfect picture. I wish I could remember looking at that picture, but its long gone. All I got is a frame and two eyes to take snaps with. These hands don't do me justice, they indulge in all the things that my eyes wont ever get to touch.
And there I was early in the morning, trying to feel with my eyes, and look with my hands. Drawing out the pictures of how she used to touch me, even when she didn't want too.
Im awake now, I can see the minutes pass by, and I can feel the time fly.