Ancient stones crack under my feet
And I tread a soft path
Asking for little more than silence
As I fall asleep under the trees.
There is a love older than
The galaxies I count above me
Theologically whispering a recipe for disaster
That tastes like lemon and lavender.
Loving you feels a lot like
Losing my mind so I walk home torn
Limb from limb and cry for the old me but
Looking in the mirror I only see death herself.
Having a broken heart has turned to a
Hobby so sour I am left to pray and
Hope for sweet release from your eyes
Hashing out the interstellar war within.
