Voice Memo

These days:

Lifted from shade to cover the stain

Wool gray buttons and will

To hover in place

Bat it from my lashes

Itch it from my neck

The necklace tonight still catches light

For good am i so destined

To fall into your comb?

Fall into your coma?

These days:

Put you in shape, don’t even need to try

When i make time

I don’t make time

I showed up with no warning

Like your breath different in the morning

Or how can i despise what’s my own design?