Every day is something more to have
Or have not
Everywhere is made of before
No new times Just a skewed view
With no new elses
If you tear down what was made
Like a Christmas tree cut down
After the first of December
Speak like a morning dawn
Let you shine me alive
And wake me from me
Oh, I can hold onto tattered bits of things
But I need you to take this
And hold me like a wounded one
Come home and bury me alive
In all you are…
I need to take a breath not of me
I need to hold you like I can’t hold me
I need us to be in our perfect place…
