Bracing for the oncoming storm
In a warehouse where nothing stays warm.
Plywood on the windows and blankets under the doors.
Remnants of a party long gone
Just some frozen amber in the lawn
We braved the cold and went outside
Without our shoes on.
Unsure of what comes next,
But I can see it.
I know it doesn't exist.
Your pulse was hidden under a sheet
The grapevines clutching to the heat
You said "Why don't we even try something?"
So I bit my tongue and tasted copper
You used the blood to practice your penmanship
In a broken script.
I told you about the deer ghost.
It crossed the meadow and leapt over the road.
You bowed your head in the candlelight and froze.
I was looking at the ghost at George Washington Post
As it was waiting for me to come home
But when the morning comes it's understandable
Just a drawing pinned to the window.
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