Smoke is filling my bones The carcinogenic ghosts of an irish ancestory At war with my german temper Fueling the fire To a heart that beats for belonging Keeping me in step with the frostbitten sidewalks Of a December morning Lips moist from french vanilla cappuccino And your chapstick
Smoke is filling my bones I'm rolling through my own fingertips Losing touch with my own reality Wondering if my knuckles are white from clenched fists Or the grip around your palm
Smoke is filling my bones You don't smoke Yet you fill your lungs with my exhale Breathe me in I'll house myself in your capillary beds Where I'll tuck myself in for the night Listening to what makes your heart tick