we sang songs about bicycles, beetles and brass
with my head in the grass
and watching bats and planes pass by.
you plucked out a tune
about texas in june
and dancing gnomes and building homes
inside our heads for one another.
and we topped it off in the car,
a song with the guitar that needed to breathe;
so the windows came down, hair in my eyes.
and sometimes i can’t tell
about what parts of life with which i’m in love;
whether it’s tangible or momentary.
but i wished you were here
to breathe in my ear
and find inspiration for pretty songs.
the ones about pictures, stories and books.
about flowers, soft breezes, evenings and brooks.
or how your arms slip around my waist.
i want to be good to you and give you beautiful things.
i want to be tragic and lovely and go away for a while.
i want to run my fingers through your hair
and know you’re as content as i am with that alone.
i want to listen to this song and know you feel it.