Let Me Go Home, Baby, It's Better There

Inhale the lies,

try to find some hope

where the solitude clings

to lips like the last drag

on a lonely cigarette

in a quiet field of stars.

The air permeates with stillness,

quietude of summers when

nothing was to be missed,

so unlike now when 

everything is in turmoil,

everything missed. Always.

I hear the wind blow

like knives in our backs

as we turn out the world

in our embrace where

every other word is censored. 

You're worried. I'm jaded,

and nothing is the same

as those summers

and everything is the way

it was back then

when you are in my arms

and we laugh at the 

porch lights like they're on fire,

us the match that lit them,

stirring this household

in the middles of a field

full of summer stars in

a snowless winter.

Let me go home, baby, it's better there.