The drive for love is like moving South slow and fragrant expectation, citrus in your mouth Get closer and closer, distance swells like fate Practice makes imperfect, bitter spices taste
Your levee breaches, and I’m twisted in wind How do we arch so we feel sweat and skin? The climb is constant, sloping long indirect slow Driving to tell them all I’ll never know
Pretty as prenatal, and birth as a break Weather is endless and So are my mistakes Deep down South I found I could watch trees At home I am nothing but a notebook full of needs
Diving for love and surfing waves on chance You think you found it, but merely nonchalance
Deep in the mangroves, you don’t see any men Just a still and swollen silence right before you swim.