The Comfort of Pale-Smile Sadness

My pockets know the back of my hands
like I know the world through
my teary eyes
and just-as-blurry mind.

I'm sure if I ever left the comfort
of closed-lip, pale-smile sadness,
I'd fall right off the orange horizon;
drowning in the migraine-inducing sun.

Because a cold night kisses hard
and love is dropping your legs over the roof
with the gently-used notion to ground yourself,
but instead you just breathe knowing you've already fell.