we are driving through lindale texas
and you are holding on to the bottle at your feet
harder
than you have ever held my hand

the times you smile at me, it does not touch your eyes
the moments your hand glides past me are merely accidents
when you look at me what do you see?

is it the
chances you saw yourself miss or
the mistakes you made unraveling in front of you again

we are cut from the same cloth,
because something in our DNA
and something in the heavens agreed
yours were the assets i would need
to survive.

we are driving through lindale texas
and you are muttering about a missed bill or two
and i’m just happy to be so close to you