We sit out on the sand,
The fog covers the sky,
And blankets the world,
Like a shield.
The waves nip at our feet,
The water's cold
But I'm warm because you hold my hand,
And I don't think you even realize.
We lay back on the damp sand,
And you brush back my hair,
And leave your fingers there
For a second too long
And I think I've gotten too used to this.
I had a vision
Of crimson vines
And blackened sleeves,
And pastry palms
Holding strawberries.
If I turned my heart
I am thinner than I thought:
Though my scale says I'm not,
I can see the sour fruit I've caught.
In the spring, the flowers call
Like I could be King of them all,
Burning in the sun before the fall.
not a cola or a root beer;
something in between
like a tortured machine—
it will power down soon.
that tang on your tongue
is from my chewed up wires,
lightning should show through smoke
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