One-Fifty-Two
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Broken glass rest on the cabinets
A shrine to the slow, long nights
We slept with the windows cracked
Sinking days
Potential I made to waste
Nothing but empty space left in our beds
Wood-step words
You've told me but are you sure?
Remember the way things were
When it was a sigh?
Summer couch
Whispers that sound like shouts
Bare in the blanket house
When heat took your room
Crimson sway
Snow drift our homes away
Intolerant but we stay
And nothing is else
Wheel home breeze
Build love in the back row seat
In hours or in our dreams
And delicate brace
Highway stops
No dimes to afford a walk
You're ticking and it might stop
Before the lift