My hands are birds praying
in time to heart beat, my feet.
Fingers flying across the open
face of my phone, I am looking
for you in a midwestern town
where you have never lived
I am looking for my father
I am looking at my father
I am writing our name in pain
even as the pen runs dry, dies
-------------------------------------------------------
*This was supposed to be a picture of autumn tones in Bakersfield Park, but my phone died as I tried to take a picture. As best as I can tell, it died... from the cold? Apparently winter is coming for more than just tropical me.
in time to heart beat, my feet.
Fingers flying across the open
face of my phone, I am looking
for you in a midwestern town
where you have never lived
I am looking for my father
I am looking at my father
I am writing our name in pain
even as the pen runs dry, dies
-------------------------------------------------------
*This was supposed to be a picture of autumn tones in Bakersfield Park, but my phone died as I tried to take a picture. As best as I can tell, it died... from the cold? Apparently winter is coming for more than just tropical me.
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