If I had one thousand words
to tell you how it is.
If I had ten thousand wounds
to remind me how it was.
If every star
was a tooth from your mouth,
in every kiss.
If we could ride through the desert,
if we could wander in the wood,
if you could hold on,
to let me know you were there.
If we could pull the anchor up,
and let the whistle blow.
Would that be enough:
to get us there?
to get me there?
Or would it all fall away,
like
an
oldfeathersnakeskintreeinfall?
Like it did one thousand times before.
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