I swung from trees
on homemade knots
to kiss you on the cheek.
While you built rotten tables
and we grew up to be thieves.
You told me you would build our house
when from mine we would sneak.
You said you'd fix the broken boat
in the field where we would meet.
Campfires dulled the stars
but it was the only light we'd need.
We both kept our virginity
too scared to even sleep.
You called me beautiful and perfect
even though I wouldn't eat.
Your dad always cut your hair short
but you knew I liked it curly.


Wind blown hair from dusty drives
getting lost on winding roads.
I never listened to your jokes
and we never stole the boat.