file your nails down to the wick,
grow your hair out past your dreams,
try to outrun the fire burning inside of your fever,
bat your eyelashes at the missed opportunities passing by,
close your fist trying to hold on to the last sound of my voice,
listen up for the sound of the last train that could have taken you home.
tell me all about your sunflower’d sighing and tempest coughing,
disguise the obscenity of youth inside that smile you keep on your nightstand,
dress the wounds your past has left with that beautiful dress
you hold at arm’s length as you ask me if I still love the sight of your voice,
grow your hair out past your dreams,
try to outrun the fire burning inside of your fever,
bat your eyelashes at the missed opportunities passing by,
close your fist trying to hold on to the last sound of my voice,
listen up for the sound of the last train that could have taken you home.
tell me all about your sunflower’d sighing and tempest coughing,
disguise the obscenity of youth inside that smile you keep on your nightstand,
dress the wounds your past has left with that beautiful dress
you hold at arm’s length as you ask me if I still love the sight of your voice,
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