Your Handwriting (A Porch Song)

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All our saucers have broke in this little rocket home where we live like full-grown ghosts of twelve-year-olds, and I'm waiting for you, love, I got my heart all set up like a tug-boat toy you drag along, a tug-boat toy you drag along.

last night when I undressed, I drew a lighthouse on my chest and said a prayer for it by morning to have sunken and for a place we could talk, some stoop or some parking lot and a couple cinder blocks to sit on.

your handwriting is an even mix of your parent's influence, I hope I see it again.

so I wait on the porch, hold this memory up like a torch and I think of the friend, draft a letter in my head. and her image clings like a cast to heal some fractured past, to heal my past.