Lately you've been in the pit of my stomach when I try to sleep.
You're turning and turning and kicking from the box under my bed
With the beaded bracelet and the candy wrapper
And the memory of a time before we really knew what love was,
When I wore your jacket because I was supposed to.
And the pink lighting makes it kind of like a dream,
Where you don't look so grown up
And so strange like a piece of you went missing from the inside,
a cog out of place in a beautiful, graceful, worried machine who has hearts on every fingertip.
And I don't know why you don't reach out, touch me and wake me
And ask how that's going while tracing the curve of my hip
Like you were a breeze across the water at battery park,
Where we pretended to be shy.
And through the neglected fish tank I can almost make out the figure of the elephant
And the stark contrast of your open eyes against mine closed.
But maybe you were just a pair of eyes,
and maybe there was too much ash in the cross on my forehead.