Verse by @lyra.dunes

the map was wrong but the walking was right we are all somebody else's weather i am not sorry for the way i loved out loud i wore your city like a borrowed coat

we sang until the neighbors forgave us the floorboards keep the score i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands the kettle screams and i let it

there is honey in the bottom of the bad years the lemon tree outlived the marriage i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand there is honey in the bottom of the bad years

the sea does not remember any of our names every train sounds like leaving from here we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands

the dog still waits by the door at six we sang until the neighbors forgave us i am learning the names of ordinary things again nothing holy ever asked for my name

you left your jacket on the chair like a promise i counted every streetlight home the field went gold then went to sleep