The gowans were all waving like some bed that we were making
As the morning shoveled light onto our eyes
The guiet had gotten steeper since the kept strayed from the keeper
This telephone tag love never seemed to make us wise
Love's a garment I prepare
That I can Weave but just can't seem to wear
The air swelled with requiems outside the gates of the kingdom
Birthed from the seasons we'd spent fumbling with the keys
Sparkling semantics to defend it as our tongues danced around the exits
And we spoke for the sole sake of our bodies
You were bused away in November
And returned with some pale mill pond rebirth
Cool grass used to tickle our feet, now we're just kicking dirt
The kingdom's not our dowry
And there ain't no love like outer space
It won't be hiding in some attic shoebox
All repaired from its idle days.
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