High Road
I am tired of taking the high road
I want to be down in the gutter of your dirt
As petty as I am pretty
Drowning the sorrows of this hurt
With a cold and calloused glass of whiskey
Favorite
I feel like a stranger in my own bed When I don’t wake up by your side To the smile in your eyes, the whisper in the way you trace every ripple in my spine like the binding of your favorite book Caressing fine print with tender movements and tempting looks Meandering my hips and thighs, like you’ve thumbed through these passages before under quilted comforters and moonlight Haunted by every past impasse Down every dog-eared corner of residual horrors Collected in the dusty corridors of your consciousness Congested consciences How we’ve conned our senses into confusing the unavailable for more valuable Chasing after sunset thieves Insatiable greed which pocket picks the beauty out of everything Unseen efforts festered in the boils of what you once thought was love It’s tough Feeling like nothing you ever do is enough Scared your next romance Could be another chance of bad luck I’m not a gambling woman, but You got me putting my prayers into pots of gold Sparking four-leaf clovers under ...
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