I hope that when Love comes into my life, he knocks.
That he is warm and smells like hay, like wet earth and roses, like my father.
that he is the same in every light, every angle, in black and white and color. That his daddy taught him how to fix things, and a Phillips looks good on him. When he says my name, I'll hear Texas, North Carolina and Oklahoma, long hot drives and a dust filled cab.
When he sees my shelves are crooked, he pulls nails
out of his pockets, he has pistols in his glove compartment, *****
jeans but cleans up nice, that when I say that I love Jesus he
reaches for my hair and says of course you do.
When Love comes, I hope he waits at the door because I take a while to get ready. I've been perfecting my heart for ages, softening my
soul to room temperature, polishing the pottery and brushing my hair back. I've been searching for the perfect shade of lipstick, one that
reminds him of a dream, an old brick building where he once
found me, where we broke bread and communed and
when he woke up, he left this old life and
came in search of something new
someone, new, me.
That when love comes, he's neither relieved or overwhelmed. He might
breathe a sigh of joy over I didn't know when it was gonna happen, but here we are. And Everything we've done up until that point is
an instrumental, everyone else a backing vocalist singing
harmonies to the way we laugh. When Love comes he'll
probably know. We'll probably glow brighter.
we'll probably glow brighter.