I remember what we said under our fingers… when hushed and heavy-eyed. In the hours between now and tomorrow’s problems. Spat out in grim jest like a laughing choke, Birthed in the mercy of our madness: Those were promises scribbled on the wind. Truths I once half-knew teased on the turn of a phrase,
Fly-by-night (original poem)
Fly-by-night (original poem)
Fly-by-night (original poem)
I remember what we said under our fingers… when hushed and heavy-eyed. In the hours between now and tomorrow’s problems. Spat out in grim jest like a laughing choke, Birthed in the mercy of our madness: Those were promises scribbled on the wind. Truths I once half-knew teased on the turn of a phrase,