and still i can feel it; can feel you.

those flecks of gold, fallen from cerulean eyes,

along arms and upon each molecule of my skin,

and i am uselessly rich, as traces of your touch linger;

stinging and biting, clawing for a way out of this tremor.

darling, i go quick and shine bright, only to fly,

but, doll, you are naively open and will only crash.

i fall short of clever, but you shall descry my eloquence.

words are unjust and without mercy, so forgive my misuse.

you see, want croons to stay put and take it slow,

but i need; i need to exist like fog; like BIRD.

because, much like your pallid gossamer arms,

PAPER TOWNS will never be built to hold me.