Your red wine spilled on my merino scarf —
in reality, cold brew is dribbling down my chin
and I can't afford nice wool
and I can't find the words
to tell the whole story of
who we are
and who we were.
I know I'm supposed to write
a perfect chorus,
words that make sense and
appeal to every listener.
But I can't make beautiful music
about me, you, or meandyou.
