Still soft when speaking from white flag book lungs

Bees made hives on the back of her tongue

I took weightless wordsHer 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