in the midwest, i know a man; i can't remember the name of his town. he holds cigarettes but dreams of my hands when december's cold flame burns down. with eyes on his lashes, and on the street, he could not see for shuffling his feet. with a brain so focused, and friends so lovely, he could not think for thinking of me. how i miss him now, and the chance to explain, but this georgia voice couldn't cut through that illinois rain. but he certainly found out what i meant on the rooftop when he followed me up there and drew circles on my back. when he fell asleep on my skipping heartbeat... woke up when it had skipped out. are we all so afraid to say what we want while it's in our sight? i cannot embrace the day till i find that it's night.
