Paint on my hands You on my mind. You, miles beyond that county line, Head to toe in that uniform of cotton and green nylon. And as I sit on my porch underneath the pines, I dream of the day that we do not have to converse through telephone lines, The day that I am in your arms And you, in mine.
One way ticket to home, Land of lakes and dreams.
I am home yet homesick, And I am starting to hate the taste of rum Because it reminds me too much of you; That night we met underneath the pool table Where there was barely enough room for two.
Three-thousand-mile coastline. Home to your flesh and blood. Home to your love.
I miss you, Can you come home now? I do not like my lonesome being my comforter, Filling your vacant side of the bed as I drift to sleep. I know that you are doing what is best for you But how can we know that this is best for me?
Sleeping Bear. Isle Royale. This is where you should be.
I miss you, And I miss waiting for you at the foot of the Springs; The comforting emptiness of your apartment, Nobody there but you and me. My soul, married to yours, Wife with no ring, Forever yours if you'll have me.
I feel guilty spewing my thoughts into the air, At the stars that do not give a damn about me. Quick to judge, they are, For they spend eternity apart and are never caught complaining. They call it selfish that I am counting down the days until you leave Until I can feel the warmth of your touch on my face On my body. The touch that has now been tainted by AK's and bombs The touch that is violent The touch that means no harm.
And deep down, I know that the stars are right I am selfless and selfish all at once But I do not know what amount of missing you is normal and what is too much. So before I lay my head down to rest I remove the necklace engraved with your name that I wear on my chest And I continue to dream
Alone and a mess.
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