these warm walls have been built slowly with scents and mystery and closets

You build the walls
bicker with the mortar
and the cacophany of machinery

We live in the rooms
that love built
we ruminate on lives past

it's not after years that the
warmth and comfort
comes to fruition

There's a cut on my finger
right down the side
how did that happen?

I'm still there
on that deserted beach
I see the signed stones

THey write to me
they call to me
for a change

This life is funny
if you really dig deep
it'll make you weep