|
She was never just some Erman
But was I just her Summer man?
Someone to wrinkle covers with...
Someone to take on trips...
A tag along across the table
To stare at as she sips
White wine in these cities
That have sank so many ships
That its patrons stare without care
Wheth'er she'll spare me as I dare
To chase a pulmonary apocalypse
Between her hair, mind, eyes and hips
Knowing her mouth's given so much more to me
Than the softness of her lips
I ask her again "Why are you here?"
But then, again, we disappear | 
