Spilled Ink (Currently undergoing updates.)

likeacactustree:

I am a woman like that song you wrote last night

all guttural and lacking harmony in the places that you would expect,

full of sorrowful sound tuned over bright glossy words 

and surrounded in melody that is tarnished by missing syllables 

or hurried breathing in between guitar strum.

I am a woman like that song that you remembered you loved

as you fell asleep, socks on, newspaper creased on your chest

the fragrance of the day staining your shirt,

sweat lingering on the small of your back and between your brow

when a draft of memory rolls over your bones

and you mouth all of the words like it was the lullaby of your name.