picking daisies on the run
climbing trees and baking buns
holding hands with love fine-spun
another day to face the sun
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
you and me are old jerry cans
jostling in the back of a truck
spilling out with every bump in the road
sun beating down on the boards peaking through the worn red paint
the memory of her is the rust that falls every time he slams the side door
her hair was the colour of the sun in the rear view mirror
the faded pads on his dash board worn where her soft feet used to rest
the world is mute
the wind blows through him
taking slivers as it goes
her ghost is hidden in the old radio
and his tears are soaked in whisky
her laughter still spills over the back seat
their love feels like holding hands while driving
windows down
dust flying
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
I'll stamp hearts in your sleeves
for every thing you've ever lost there
for every time she said "I'll never leave"
stop checking the lost in found
there are no childhood remedies hiding under the kitchen sink
quit flipping over couch cushions hoping for change
you wont need a rainy day fund
just gumboots with me
the only piggy bank we'll be breaking into is the one packed full, heavy with stolen memories
nickels and dimes,
save them for me
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 3:02 AM UTC
my hair smells of coffee, and my sheets brown sugar
let's move to east london
we'll rent a little apartment with character of coarse
i'll find a cure for the winter blues
the cure will be plenty of nutmeg and peaches to boot
you'll be a bouncer
and i'll sleep through the day
i'll stay up all night counting the stars with the hope that maybe i'll be something some dAy
time slips by and i'll fly you a kite
we'll be okay
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
you are a summer storm
you are the lightning and the thunder
you are the look on the child face in awe and wonder
you are the rain knocking on the roof and the drip of the water that hits the floor
she is the pan placed under the pour
cleaning the dust out of it's dark oiled surface
she is the grease on the hinges of the back patio gate
he is the wind that makes the windows creak and he is the water riqueshaying of my face
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC