And I'm cold in my bed
Tired
Pillow covered in tears because that's where they're used to falling
And I just want to be loved

And I know I am by my friends
And my family
But I want to be stuck in someone's head
And I want them to rub my arm and make me a little bit less cold
And maybe have my tears land on their shoulder instead

I want to be the poem and not the poet for once

Two strangers waltz beneath moonlight
where life is full --
swells high with the fish
in midsummer:

...on little nameless rivers or hidden brooks on whose banks Naiads might have sunned their white, wet limbs.