Verse by @moth.lamp

i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands the cold got into the bones of the house the mirror learned my face by accident we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast

the church bell is just a bell on tuesdays summer left its fingerprints on the glass you can hear the whole town breathing at four am i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand

i put the whole year in one suitcase i keep apologizing to furniture the kettle screams and i let it my hands still know your kitchen

the river takes what it is offered the streetlamp buzzed like a held breath i keep apologizing to furniture my hands still know your kitchen

the floorboards keep the score i keep the receipts of everything i felt the streetlamp buzzed like a held breath i wore your city like a borrowed coat

the cold got into the bones of the house i counted every streetlight home the birds do not know we broke up we were young and the light was cheap