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Description
There are words the world will never hear in verse. The humor of allergies taking hold, for example, or walking to the park in the afternoon. Deep inner city, and an inner city girl, who's now in the big city. I can't seem to find her against the fog of exhaust and cigarette smoke.

But do I miss those nights in the grass? Crickets and lost keys and listening for the wind. Innocence, half-childhood, pewter green tops strutting down an Avenue with confidence, and then riding a bus back to the black-coat areas. Summer light, winter nights. The hot seemed unbearable, the cold just as much. Thin skin, paper-thin walls, and thinner still grew patience as we grew in age.

And nails that I can never seem to grow. A guitar that my eyes avoid in favour of the keyboard, but I'll never admit that aloud. A voice constantly used, but never recognized.

Strength that radiates. Smoother skin and freshly washed hair. Living and breathing beings growing up so fast, growing up in all the wrong ways. No limitations, youthisms, free-flowing poetry, tumbling off of the paper like a waterfall of words.

Time spent alone, but never in loneliness. With fictional characters and complicated riffs. Slamming down on the keys or the petals, and twirling almost naked in the rain, shampoo falling off of my hair. The sewers flooding, the children rejoicing. The stars still visible in the sky, no matter how much water was trying to block it.

And it all leads down to this. This one day, out on the grass. Basketballs and bikes aside, and your hand in mine, and everything is quiet for a time. We're whole-hearted summer children with an inner glow to boot. And we're glowing past sunset, refusing to move. And the crickets are out, and so are the theives. In memory, I never left. In memory, I'll never leave.

I wish you were back here, where I could keep you warm. We're summer children, all we have are these memories. In these wide open fields, with no judgement or prying eyes. We should still be innocent. What's more, we should still be free.

It curls in my chest like a flame. Burning paper and childhood games. A memory so close, but it's fogged, like a dream. Just me remembering you, and dreaming that you're remembering me. It'll switch from life-changing to lifeless revenge, on the corner you light up a cigarette. The embers burn bright for a moment or two. As it's brought to your lips...

A memory so close, but it's dizzy, like city fog. Just me remembering you.

Description
There are words the world will never hear in verse. The humor of allergies taking hold, for example, or walking to the park in the afternoon. Deep inner city, and an inner city girl, who's now in the big city. I can't seem to find her against the fog of exhaust and cigarette smoke.

But do I miss those nights in the grass? Crickets and lost keys and listening for the wind. Innocence, half-childhood, pewter green tops strutting down an Avenue with confidence, and then riding a bus back to the black-coat areas. Summer light, winter nights. The hot seemed unbearable, the cold just as much. Thin skin, paper-thin walls, and thinner still grew patience as we grew in age.

And nails that I can never seem to grow. A guitar that my eyes avoid in favour of the keyboard, but I'll never admit that aloud. A voice constantly used, but never recognized.

Strength that radiates. Smoother skin and freshly washed hair. Living and breathing beings growing up so fast, growing up in all the wrong ways. No limitations, youthisms, free-flowing poetry, tumbling off of the paper like a waterfall of words.

Time spent alone, but never in loneliness. With fictional characters and complicated riffs. Slamming down on the keys or the petals, and twirling almost naked in the rain, shampoo falling off of my hair. The sewers flooding, the children rejoicing. The stars still visible in the sky, no matter how much water was trying to block it.

And it all leads down to this. This one day, out on the grass. Basketballs and bikes aside, and your hand in mine, and everything is quiet for a time. We're whole-hearted summer children with an inner glow to boot. And we're glowing past sunset, refusing to move. And the crickets are out, and so are the theives. In memory, I never left. In memory, I'll never leave.

I wish you were back here, where I could keep you warm. We're summer children, all we have are these memories. In these wide open fields, with no judgement or prying eyes. We should still be innocent. What's more, we should still be free.

It curls in my chest like a flame. Burning paper and childhood games. A memory so close, but it's fogged, like a dream. Just me remembering you, and dreaming that you're remembering me. It'll switch from life-changing to lifeless revenge, on the corner you light up a cigarette. The embers burn bright for a moment or two. As it's brought to your lips...

A memory so close, but it's dizzy, like city fog. Just me remembering you.