And pull out a spark of immortal flame to warm the hearts of men:
But Prometheus, torn by the claws and beaks whose task is never done, would be tortured another eternity to go stealing fire again.”
we drank coffee from mason jars
and poured orange juice in flowers vases.
we had pastries and stormy nights
and your hand was always running through my hair.
we counted change for cheap beer,
read history books on our backs with no clothes on,
drew ink tattoos on my thighs.
summers came and went with you carrying me on your back
and it’s okay to remember the nights
it was winter and spring in your eyes
and fall in my backbone.
sometimes the rain still drowns the town
and my collarbones came out to play
and they say you look so good
you look so good
"you look so good without him"
but it’s still counting change and the windows down
it’s still me not being able to save you
when I’m too busy trying to save myself.
it’s still me writing about loving you
just enough to never ask