i keep pacing around from room to room
expecting a seed of him to bloom
it has turned my heart into a broom
sweeping a tomb with ugly fumes
i'm waiting for him to come travel with me
to weigh down my blues with symmetry
sailors used to make ships out of trees
that was when it was hard to cross seas
i see a truck, a soft bed in the back
us laying together drawing our own maps
we'd erase inhibition and our tracks
making love between sweltering naps
we'd make fires on beaches and shower in streams
follow only our guts and the moon's beams
coming up for a breath, swimming in dreams
sowing our seams by our own means
we'd catch our own fish and pick our own fruits
roll around in the mud without clothes or boots
i'd bring a fancy dress and he'd bring a suit
a grand staircase would appear out of some roots
and at the top we'd find a canopied dancefloor
an empty ballroom waiting right next to the shore
mister redding's lullabies warning us to adore
before wells run dry and windows turn to doors
we may quarrel if we get lost or scared
and scars may be the only proof we shared
spinning the bottle, in the truth i'd dare
to stare through the fire with a bare prayer
and a melody would come to me right before sleep
and the world may despise us for the secrets we'd keep
we'd weave around each other and the honey would seep
like the courage it takes to see darkness and leap
and he would recognize the touch of my small hand
when he grabbed it out of hunger or to reprimand
i could steer my own canoe back to the white sand
if i could mould him out of water and see some land
© Copyright Miss Carly Marie 2008-2012
"you don't miss your water 'til your well runs dry"
-otis redding
