Coup De Plume

i want you, messy. sitting on the kitchen counter, half drunk and talking about how the world would keep on spinning, even without us in it. dancing around the bedroom to owl city, loose hair, big t-shirt, and the smile you save for moments like this. i want you when life doesn’t look laughter and soft hands and wanting. when blood and bitter words come out and someone gets left with bruises. i want you when it hurts to want you, when it’s angry and dirty and painful. i want you when this love is something we have to fight to hold on to, when we are more battlefield than beauty, more ache than anything else. when everything is crumbling, i still want you, i still want you.

He knew why he wanted to kiss her. Because she was beautiful. And before that, because she was kind. And before that, because she was smart and funny. Because she was exactly the right kind of smart and funny. Because he could imagine taking a long trip with her without ever getting bored. Because whenever he saw something new and interesting, or new and ridiculous, he always wondered what she’d have to say about it–how many stars she’d give it and why.

Ring on the bar. Clinging water marks. It hints at what I had And calls up what I can’t. Wring you out of me, Shake your memory free. Can’t squash them open sores, Can’t chase away the hole. I have buried you, in every place I’ve been. You keep ending up in my shaking hands. Ring, sound the alarm. Sting my broken heart, And the faintest violinist, buried in my gut. There are chances and choices, sometimes you just have to cut. I have buried you, every place I’ve been. You keep ending up within my shaking hands. I have buried you within my shaking hands, you keep ending up, every place I’ve been. I have buried you, every place I’ve been. You keep ending up in my shaking hands. You keep ending up, in every place I’ve been, in my shaking hands. Every place I’ve been.