we are drawing circles in the sand
trying to make sense of the birds that flutter in our heads.
like those sandbox cities we used to live in,
we are all fine grained
and we all jump rope,
hoping to jump just high enough,
hoping to laugh,
freely in the company of swinging ponytails,
eager like the boy to just learned how to snap.
show me all the stones you hold in your hand,
tell me the stories that come with them.
let's chase hummingbirds;
let's run slowly.
wind 'round this back line dirt trail.
out of illusion,
into harmony;
hum with me.
i like the messy songs we make-
hide these folded letters in your socks.
we could run on words,
you know.
we could run on words.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
we are drawing circles in the sand
trying to make sense of the birds that flutter in our heads.
like those sandbox cities we used to live in,
we are all fine grained
and we all jump rope,
hoping to jump just high enough,
hoping to laugh,
freely in the company of swinging ponytails,
eager like the boy to just learned how to snap.
show me all the stones you hold in your hand,
tell me the stories that come with them.
let's chase hummingbirds;
let's run slowly.
wind 'round this back line dirt trail.
out of illusion,
into harmony;
hum with me.
i like the messy songs we make-
hide these folded letters in your socks.
we could run on words,
you know.
we could run on words.
