Moving hands and sandy graves
Our hand just slipped into each others. And she didn’t pull away and I didn’t pull away. So we stayed, holding hands. More then distraction, less then love.
I wasn’t sure it would reoccur, or if I wanted it to. But it did and each time it cleared my thoughts.
Maybe the cold shoulder drove me to forget. Maybe that was her plan.
She knew herself and thus knew me. And knew what would make me dig.
A pit for her and I alone with a date so blurry and reason so unsure.
Another date drawn in the sand used to fill our shallow grave.
Or so I think it’s a time to open, maybe it reads “keep out”; but why did we fill it with sand if that was our intention?
Our hands just slipped apart. And she didn’t reach to save and I didn’t reach to save.
The dirt of all the others muddies up my mind. This drives away themselves and everything else.
And when my hand slips into hers and a kiss seems to have landed.
I merely glimpse at our grave and try not to stir the sand.
That is how you planned it, a grave is a grave but some are built to be turned.
I wasn’t sure it would reoccur, or if I wanted it to. But it did and each time it cleared my thoughts.
Maybe the cold shoulder drove me to forget. Maybe that was her plan.
She knew herself and thus knew me. And knew what would make me dig.
A pit for her and I alone with a date so blurry and reason so unsure.
Another date drawn in the sand used to fill our shallow grave.
Or so I think it’s a time to open, maybe it reads “keep out”; but why did we fill it with sand if that was our intention?
Our hands just slipped apart. And she didn’t reach to save and I didn’t reach to save.
The dirt of all the others muddies up my mind. This drives away themselves and everything else.
And when my hand slips into hers and a kiss seems to have landed.
I merely glimpse at our grave and try not to stir the sand.
That is how you planned it, a grave is a grave but some are built to be turned.