Yellow Brush
Hot flush, rising skin
First touch, nights close in
Comb fibres stand on end
Watch words, bodies bend
It beats the run of the mill
To lay bare with your feelings
Feed them feelings
Converging, merging, they're one and the same
First touch, rising skin
An arch of the back
An hourglass slipping
Through fingers and thumbs
Make sounds that seem fitting
A fraction of you
The particles colliding
Suck in your breath
A gulp of air sliding
An arch of the back
An hourglass slipping
Through fingers and thumbs
Make sounds that seem fitting
A fraction of you - the end
It beats the run of the mill
To lay bare with your feelings
Feed them feelings
Converging, merging, they're one and the same