I watch broken china with my feet and
play piano at my nose;
irony is fresh in the air today.
Your letter didn't come this morning,
I wanted to wake up mid-dream and catch it
before it fell.

I'm barely listening to you, you
ramble while I paint the way your eyes look,
I want to stay, "Keep still, my love!" but
I can't, because my mouth is sewed shut.

Scratch everything. History is in the seams,
smooth as silk, it likes to watch us
grow. We are beautiful to it,
this is called learning, an experience.