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there’s nothing

quite like a torn up indigo sky

bruised and hot,

that’s what they’ll tell you,

baby.

but

Ophelia

is visiting the river

and your serious lover

is reading Ibsen

while you toss and turn

so what’s that?

—–

——-

—-

my dreams

come in threes

and when I’m in the rain

and the Texas sky

cracks

and the downpour

has replaced your lips

I feel

okay.

but Ophelia

is dancing me around

the kitchen

and there’s peace

for a minute

while we forget

the drink

and while Hunter

combs his hair

I forget

the way

Texas skies

crack and tear

indigo and heat

…I

oh honey

there’s no more room here

there’s no more room here

there’s no more room here

there’s no more room here

there’s no more room here

-

Honey.

to know

all these words

have been for you

only

to be here alone

once again