deepundergroundpoetry.com
Green
It's the tides that breathe,
It's the trees.
Its the windows unwashed,
It's the way you said it.
You grip the side of the table,
You kick your legs wildly.
You look for an answer,
You don't hit anything.
It's the teeth still loose,
It's sleep still running,
It's the smell of my youth.
You tack a photo to the wall,
You smile the same way,
I look 2 inches taller.
It's the dreams still real,
It's the Halloween costumes,
It's the plastic spoons.
It's the way you said it,
You said it.
Said it like a name or like small talk,
But saying it quietly doesn't make it smaller.
It just makes me lean in farther.
It's the crumbled napkins,
It's the split ends,
It's the phones still ringing.
It's the greens over blues,
It's the size of the moon,
It's the smell of my youth.
It's the trees.
Its the windows unwashed,
It's the way you said it.
You grip the side of the table,
You kick your legs wildly.
You look for an answer,
You don't hit anything.
It's the teeth still loose,
It's sleep still running,
It's the smell of my youth.
You tack a photo to the wall,
You smile the same way,
I look 2 inches taller.
It's the dreams still real,
It's the Halloween costumes,
It's the plastic spoons.
It's the way you said it,
You said it.
Said it like a name or like small talk,
But saying it quietly doesn't make it smaller.
It just makes me lean in farther.
It's the crumbled napkins,
It's the split ends,
It's the phones still ringing.
It's the greens over blues,
It's the size of the moon,
It's the smell of my youth.
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