Tracing your face in charcoal
(I can never get the eyes right)

Counting out the melodies
In the whistle of the wind
Rereading wrinkled obituaries
mouth to mouth
lets pass the smoke
And bathe in our amateur poetry.

Feel my spine against your chest
Watch the shadows drift
We don't need a thing.
Try to forget the minutes
I'll listen to you sing

I never learned not to bite my nails
But hell you still smoke cigarettes
And in our bad habits
We found the closest thing to happiness
That I've ever seen.

We always meant to paint your room
But in the end your empty walls
Were somewhat calming