the red that you spilt all over me
left to wash, rinse, and ultimately repeat.
you played Brand New on the ride home
as the streets collected row by row.

your touch feels so good,
and your words taste divine.
but the touch that was so good
will leave me in due time.

you’re a daydream that doesn’t sit so sweet.
you’re the dark edges bumped in midnight streets.
we’re in your car but I still feel so alone,
counting the streets that go past, row by row.