Literature
the doppler effect
remind me your confession,
bruised on all your ribs
(you're the truth, the only truth -
and nothing
but the truth,)
the ballast for the sea,
it's a simple fact that
you don't owe me anything, yeah,
broken playground swings and
faded rings around your fingers:
for bracing like we're not so far,
for being still like we're not gonna fall:
we're still, you know, you're still bending into range
("you are a sunset and I
am the one you want to paint -
I know you are not perfect, well
I am not a saint -")
we're staying still, but our highlight headlights
are bending into range,
and we'll confess and you'll confess and
I'll confe