A barred sense of nostalgia, (wrapping'round ties and real wood seats)
That rough sense of make-believe
is playing next to me, picked
through tunes shuffled on a shelf;
We spent fifteen minutes to
ourselves, just for her, in heart to
hands.

Yesterday is remembered
fourth in line, because when
we knew nothing, and the only love
was fine.

I miss you (in suffocation); it’s a
high of eighty, and my sky is
painted over blue,

I sold my soul on
Monday, to buy blue lilacs
for you.

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a.a. i don't feel like me right now and neither does this. (past midnight and i can't see straight)