It’s those Saturday mornings laughing underneath the sheets its a glimpse of everything I dreamed that makes me feel hope for us. Saturdays could be our thing.
We are survivors we glisten in the sun for all the nights I died alone I did not know another woman carried my song and it is beautiful now look what we have become.
You were poetry in a dark hallway whispering to know me in a psychotic way the way your neck tattoos straddle my throat I’m envious of every girl you’ve ever known.
