Still soft when speaking from white flag book lungs
Bees made hives on the back of her tongue
I took weightless words
Her clouds move right through me
A line of best fit
Landlocked in light
Her teeth marks patched up the lines on my palms
The edge of her spine braided into mine
We were mute in the mouth of the moon
We were mute in the mouth of the currents
Of blood vessels containing the sea
That keep you from coming back to me
That keep you from coming back to me
That keep you from coming back
That keep you from coming back to me (cont.)
(Bees made hives in the mouth of the lion
I made my home in the house of a liar)
That keep you from coming back to me
