Lithograph.

Spread your cloud wisp wingtips with me,
and we’ll draw sky curtains together,
following drifting parachutes
weighed by raindrops and regret.


Let’s spend the afternoon
matching torn-up lithographs,
and we’ll leave stardust tracks,
where ghosts of lovers past have waltzed together.



We’ll dance in the space between light and dark,
brushed by asbestos snowflakes
but we can hide beneath your parasol,
eyes lit with cinnamon sunlight.



Let’s spend the afternoon
matching torn-up lithographs,
and we’ll leave stardust tracks,
where ghosts of lovers past have waltzed together.



Let me be your fallen star,
‘cause we can kick dust devils
with our sneaker prints
and shake the dust from stairs as we race by.



Let’s spend the afternoon
matching torn-up lithographs,
and we’ll leave stardust tracks,
where ghosts of lovers past have waltzed together.



There’s a place hidden in porch light
where you can clearly see the way the cracks
flood with rain that never goes away.



Let’s spend the afternoon
matching torn-up lithographs,
and we’ll leave stardust tracks,
where ghosts of lovers past have waltzed together.



Let’s spend the afternoon
matching torn-up lithographs.