Verse by @birdie.quinn

we made a home out of almost my hands still know your kitchen summer left its fingerprints on the glass the highway hums the way you used to

every train sounds like leaving from here i still set the table for the ghost of us the kettle screams and i let it i keep apologizing to furniture

the lemon tree outlived the marriage the floorboards keep the score we sang until the neighbors forgave us the calendar keeps making promises

the wallpaper remembers the wrong colors the calendar keeps making promises the highway hums the way you used to the birds do not know we broke up

the sky was the color of an unopened letter i keep apologizing to furniture the highway hums the way you used to i wore your city like a borrowed coat

the cold got into the bones of the house summer left its fingerprints on the glass the sea does not remember any of our names my hands still know your kitchen