there's a song in my pocket somewhere
song-ing and vibrating, but my hands
are far too busy to silence its increasing distraction.
there's a crease inside your smile
and the bed squeaks out in pain
as if it did for you when you're with me.
there's something out there, a white phantasm
of life, but you know my eyes are far too
busy to look for them: Oh, how you love me
