Resting on the roots of this old oak I lean back against his knotted trunk, shine my granny smith on my sleeve And ponder the days…

That dip in the road- that sends your belly to your throat... that's how it feels when you kiss me.

Sing me a love song in a slow, southern drawl to the tune of sunny days...

I have yet to be completely submerged in reality, for drowning in the sky.

Maybe Heaven will be a library. Then I will be able to finish my to-read list.

...what happens when you return
and find nothing
but a hollowed shell,
shingles and floor,
walls and echoes
and the light that lead you here
has now burned out
and the ones who built it
have traveled afar
and you cant go to them,
no matter what shoes you wear.