product of tweaking

the truth: something i never believed in,
but your smile that night rang, rang, rang
the bell -

twisting the pieces of my veins together.
your hand, my waist, my hand, your cheek
too incidental to be noticed
and too powerful to be forgotten

but now, product of little blues
crossed for emphasis and inflicted
with the 111 of conformity

begs to differ, offering up solutions
for how i could possibly make you understand
and how i could

possibly make you...
(leave it be, leave it be, leave it be,
but the conscience is much quieter

than the instinct, which says run
to you, which screams movie
romance,

which screams one day,
one day, one day, because a smile
like that is too much to give away)