Verse by @dustline.rio

the sea does not remember any of our names i speak to the version of you that listens the sky was the color of an unopened letter summer left its fingerprints on the glass

you can hear the whole town breathing at four am we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast every train sounds like leaving from here i left the door unlocked for a season

we are all somebody else's weather we made a home out of almost i put my grief in a drawer with the batteries your laugh survives in the hallway

the tape hissed where your voice should be the sea does not remember any of our names i wore your city like a borrowed coat my mother taught me how to fold a grudge

the mirror learned my face by accident i keep the porch light on for nobody