I don't have elegant words
I'm not one to relate lips
To fresh picked strawberries

But I have feelings
They could deafen you
With their dial tone

And god I try to use them for good
But I end up finding the bad
In everything

I know you're a little rough
around the edges, I'm a bit
coarse on the inside

There are moments where
I question it all
I'm blind when you're not here

The simmer on my
hard-to-warm-up-to soul
slowly dissipates

I ought to learn to remind myself
It's okay to open up my thick skull
To let someone see what's underneath

But who's to say
I won't regret it
Like I have with every other
Gallivanting soul I've allowed
To muddy up my doorstep?

This city breathes the blues
buried just under the skin
in the memory of cleaners
and slaughter

Here the gospel travels
from mouth to heart
and it offers comfort
as by-catch of the bottle

The center as a pacemaker
in an old and worn out body
is waiting for the final lines
from a song by Muddy Waters

"You ain't gonna trouble
poor me, anymore "