If i could write a novel on your skin with my ink jet eyes i would
If i could direct the wind that carries the ashes of my cigarette to ignite some unbeknownst light in you i would
If i could point out the cracks in the pavement and ask you to walk with me i would
And if you if you wanted to count the distance from your house to mine we could
If you wanted to play house, pretend we could handle the falling sand, keep the reflection intact,
I would forget each grain; the dirt would pour an emerald glass pool and we could take a dip in its dissolving lust
Take a dip in the dimming lights and only come up for air when youre ready to look me in the eyes /