Verse by @theo.brackish

you can hear the whole town breathing at four am i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands i keep the porch light on for nobody i wore your city like a borrowed coat

i put the whole year in one suitcase the highway hums the way you used to i put the whole year in one suitcase i still set the table for the ghost of us

the tape hissed where your voice should be the calendar keeps making promises you left your jacket on the chair like a promise the sea does not remember any of our names

there is honey in the bottom of the bad years