* * * this is actually postdata * * *

F , C

tracers

pressed my fingers inside your skin

traced the lines the lines the lines the lines the lines that time dug in

kept on tracing , tracing , tracing

traced and traced until you were a girl of 13 years again

before my grandpas callused hands

trade your eyes for rocks and sand

the times that stick inside your skull just sorta ferally clinging

the times that stick when times not sticking

a thousand pages in the wind

ten thousand pages in the wind

layed my body on your body

pressed my hands inside your hands

pressed my lips and kissed and kissed until i was 13 again

pressed and pressed and pressed and pressed

fill up my brains with soil and rock

something to hold the remnants in

with cattle herds and meteors and light showers and soil and rock

times a diggin