Until we are read all over. The best advice they can give. On how to deal with grief. That it seeps into my head. And out through my hands,. I am happy, my words taste. Bitter and burnt on my tongue. That I see you, you, you. In every poem I write. And it is not a coping mechanism. It is simply a way of life. The name your mother gave you. Salt water out of their .

How many acres how much light. Tucked in the woods and out of sight. Hop on the carlton no time to explain. This content is password protected.

A place for my fantasies and lies. That alcohol and honesty had to be from the same family. That if we found a penny for every time you kissed me. The way students need a gel pen. Or how seashells need the sand. Because Sally never sold me her piece of the beach. But listening to your heart beat.