Our Children Will Remember to Recycle. (I'm re-usable.)

A Wish For You. (I Wish For You.)
Something large enough to hold.
Something small enough to grasp.
ThoughtsandactionS.
Innocent.Innocent.Innocence./


We are bones, and dreams, and chemical things,
between walls, and sheets, and loud-coloured seams.
Wearers, Lovers, Framers...Chemists, Plot-twists, Cast-kits.

I am counting the wrinkles in all of my knuckles -wondering which ones were worthwhile and who's wishing me to 'wearout' anyways.
I am Red -"Wild and quick tempered," they say, "Quite able to enable good conversational fables in quaint living-room places of the domineering, high-class/rich-ass races."
Same body, on the other hand -across the damned and untraceable, ruled "quite distasteful," man's chest, breast and well-tested lengthy armspan -You are staring at fingers, (both centre and others,) determining which one is best for each lover.
(How comedic.)
You are Gold, and you have been, since I can remember -or at least since I've known you, (three years come September).
Everyone knows that "gold" is just another word for "growing out/going out of style," (I suppose it's either that, or "novelty.") Neither are really descriptive, or worth calling "faulty." You can take your pick.

Your'e a telegram with: the punctuation all, wrong?
I'm a telephone and this, my Receiver's song.
We're crying outloud, dying-out proud, and melodiously, sub-consciously humming along, but it's meaningless now... and we've readily begun to forget how very difficult we can make Distance look with all of that new-fangled technology circulating about.
It's futile, they're fertile and we're left standing on trial.
(How Pointless.)
They're housing most brand new, grand news; We're simplifying F-blues.
We're mourning the deaths of 48 cent stamps and kerosene lamps.

We are bones.
We are dreams.
We are chemical things.
We are counting, and staring, and quite content with not caring.
You are Gold and I am Red.
We shared growing old and we'll share being dead.
I can't promise to keep secrets.
You can't act like you might need it.

We fit together: perfected patterns and symmetric seams.
We are bones and we are dreams.
And most importantly, we are chemical.