you sit and eat cereal off my floor.
talk about the way it was before

I know your soul like I know no man's land
You know little about me.
you sit and eat cereal off my floor.
I talk about the things i want to be

ode to the peach tree,
sage leaves and chai tea,
to learning how to play guitar,
to undressed, endless summers
wherever you are.

I tug on your arm,
You don’t turn around anymore.

your hair - cinnamon and burnt coffee.
your eyes -  an autumn mourning, pale and foggy.
your hands grasp firmly, not tight nor too loose,
you taste of warm winter's apple juice.

i have always
lived in the past,
dragging around
this melancholy heart
looking for lost places
or past loves.
i guess i lost myself
a little too much
in you this time.

When dreams cease
and words become absolete
the devil will have truly imagined

there is something so very Soft,
about you.
Something cinnamon,
soothing and sweet.
Something woolen,
something warming,
something very Soft about you.

I know we'll never end up together
That's the secret from the fortune teller