We run back to your house,
The lights are still on,
And they cover your freckled face,
Like it's the sun.
The grass brushes our feet,
And the wind catches in your hair,
And you look like you're in a movie
And you'll kiss me then
And when I think I'm used to it,
you do.
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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