If our time will come
all of the other words disappear
all of them
the stamps lying downstairs for Stockholm
my black wool sweater
and green army jacket
that I am packing if you arise
oh, I guess I might need to make that appointment when I am in Europe
the dream of you walking up my steps
into a bed that full of afternoon sunshine
and my brown skin from napping
you are living in a world that does not contain the flesh of me
the heart of me
the meat of my thighs and smile and laugh
you speak in tongue
when I want you to say
I’ve got you
you don’t have me
you are living in clouds
and I am in the ocean
you are speaking to the wind
I am speaking to fish.
This Is For The Women Who Don’t Give A Fuck.
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