pressed unto us flesh still sickly sweet   with scents of love   but lost of this lust   exactly what becomes of us?      just like me   they long to see you on your knees   but all these he's into she's   irreparably slow these hopes we've sewn   and so we forego   what pleasantries we've grown to know      hand in glove   for lack of the words, we called this love   but now they've cynical slurs to define what it was   that we have done      the tone that she chose shows    mother knows whats become of us   and should i start to show   well heaven knows we'll soon be sussed   false alarms, might i have meant to do you harm   but somehow i found much to distrust   in what once ushered us   through months of hurried hush