;; disconnecting

You make this face.

Your lips purse and your nostrils flare up into a point.

But even before it has come down to this

I have sensed your distaste.

But, this face is your masterpiece

And you will make it at every turn we take.

I have placed such a sour taste in your mouth

But you hunger and return for more

Leaving me ashamed with a memory, a scar.

And you sing:

"If you want me, satisfy me"

And I forget to hold on.

But you will wrap me up on the return

Today, tomorrow, again I will be your number one.

And I will turn from stone to salt to sand

Buried beneath your misguiding hand.

And as water I will run, fill the spaces

Built into place a foundation solid upon that face that you make.

Welcome me in your bitter embrace

And I will cry and believe your lies, lies, lies.

And then we travel, see the world

But you have your hand pressed tight into a blindfold

And I cannot see, you have now hidden the world from me

And I will learn bittersweet

Make your sour face my own masterpiece.

No one will keep me from being able to see.

You will no longer be disconnecting.