it takes two hours to loose myself
and a lifetime to find her again.

i look for her in dark bookstore alleys,
fingers across the shelves,
aware i am not the first
and will not be the last,
but for now i am your only.

a splinter catches my finger
and it reminds me that i can breathe.

i cannot feel my legs
and my poems stay unread.
it takes two hours to loose myself
and a lifetime to find her again.

i look for her in dark bookstore hallways
fingers across the shelves,
picking up pieces of other people,
trying to reclaim the ones i gave away to you.

i shouldve known you wouldnt have remembered.
i shouldve known you would let me hang up.

we end our phone calls without i love you's,
yet you always say goodbye.

i dream of november nights and broken cars
germany in march and the bars
in italy by the bay.

i dream of red speakers and fairy lights
green walls after fights
and tuesdays.

im crazy and youre an *******
and then we’re both sorry.

i am crying in the front seat
passenger to the roads i once called home
i ask if they have cut down the trees
and you say everything is the same,
but we both know that nothing ever is.

although the trains are not the same
i close my eyes and drift away
and when the trains blow on their horn
i almost feel i am at home.

when you exhale,
your breath nibbles my ear
and draws blood.
time drips like honey
and drags me backwards
the air is golden and heavy
and i am suffocating
i cannot breathe
i cannot breathe
i cannot breathe.