What is this weariness that waits for you?
Shrug
You press your ankle against my arm
This is the pressure that I love
You always recommended it
It could be the door
Could be the phone
For any intent or purpose
You're not home
You're up against the wall
No real impression like breath on glass
I've got the apple in me too
People are bluer than they ever imagined they might be
Looking through the boxes in the basement
Who were you then?
Your restlessness is emptier than the room we used to lived in
Here's wishing you the best
The rest is always better left unsaid