Jul 22, 2024
your heart made its bed in my jaw, slept on molars and spit and i spoke around that 'till the wind got me spooked and i bit and when the blood flowed, we both got out paintbrushes i wish we were more than a couple creatives maybe then i’d know how to talk about it ‘stead of staining the canvas again oh i wish that i’d written me she’d have wings and be golden, be comfortable holdin' your hand, if i’d written me she’d be smaller and wiser, nothing would surprise her, yeah wish that i’d written me she’d have welcomed your love for that unending summer and if i had written me could i have held tighter? you’re the better writer, tell me
