in which i am longing and you are cold...
the crisp cruelty of a burtonian november has taken up residence under my feet,
becoming the delicate crumbles left in the wake of a frightful heart
and i cannot seem capture a cure for this virulent vacancy
(these sheets are lacking)
but you should know i'd prefer to pull you up, over my head
and wait out this snow.
becoming the delicate crumbles left in the wake of a frightful heart
and i cannot seem capture a cure for this virulent vacancy
(these sheets are lacking)
but you should know i'd prefer to pull you up, over my head
and wait out this snow.