#taylor misc

That night, you were talking false prophets and profits. They make in the margins of poetry sonnets. You never read up on it, shame, could've learned something. Robert Bly on my nightstand, gifts from you, how ironic. The curse or a miracle, hearse or an oracle. You're incomparable, fuck, it was chemical. You, you, plus, plus, me, me, was us, us, us. I felt it, you held it, do you miss us, us? Wonder if you regret the secret of us, us. Mistaken for strangers the way it was, was. The pain of, the reign of, the flame of us, us. The outline, well, sometimes, do you miss us, us? The best kind, well, sometimes, do you miss us?

I know you know. It felt like something old. It felt like something holy, like souls bleeding, so it fеlt like what I've known. You're twеnty-nine years old. So how can you be cold when I open my home? And if history's clear, the flames always end up in ashes. And what seemed like fate, give it ten months and you'll be past it, you'll be past it. Babylon lovers hanging missed calls on the line. I gave you mine. Did you mind us, us? I felt it, you held it, do you miss us, us? Wonder if you regret the secret of us, us. Us, us, us, us, us, us.