The creek beside us in its
lines and waves,
and your hands just the same
Sing me our willow song
one more time
before the sun goes down
Sing into my open mouth
once more
Of the tiny spiders,
and their silk
Woven through the hair on your arms
The peach fuzz on my cheeks,
soft as lambs ear against yours
Should we hang our linen in the granite caves?
swim into the shaded creek
Should we take apart each inch
of each other's skin
Just to feel what's underneath?
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 1:39 AM UTC
The creek beside us in its
lines and waves,
and your hands just the same
Sing me our willow song
one more time
before the sun goes down
Sing into my open mouth
once more
Of the tiny spiders,
and their silk
Woven through the hair on your arms
The peach fuzz on my cheeks,
soft as lambs ear against yours
Should we hang our linen in the granite caves?
swim into the shaded creek
Should we take apart each inch
of each other's skin
Just to feel what's underneath?
