And i'll tell you right now that I have never been so revealing in my rambles, i'll tell you how her use of toast in place of a fork brought chills to my bare skin and if it wasn't for the sand covering our toes, the house burning to the ground and the waves breaking on our ankles her whispering I loved you would have felt so different. And when I think about watching your fingers trace my sides, your toes pressed against my cheek, the way your lips cracked when you smiled and how the spot behind your knees felt on my lips I start to cry. Not the cliche type of tears but the kind that actually stain your cheek, and my hands always seem to find your ring in my pocket. My finger pushing through the band and for that second I can smell your skin and feel the tips of your fingers on my teeth. Those letters you hid in the walls, the ones that are wrapped in cloth under my bed, flow in my veins and the rain that fell on our lips will always haunt me. I hate how we changed and I suppose it's all my fault and i'll never forget, Lord knows i've tried....There was a blue light that sang me to sleep and letters covered in borrowed snow. There was a sweetness on my lips that will never be tasted again..and for that i'm sad.

We were raised with soft lips and quick hands, our kin shouted from the mountaintops of the love they found. Our neighbors sat on rooftops and heckled the people walking by, taunting them with the love they found. But we were raised to borrow the ears of the saints. whisper of the love we found and keep it close to our chests. Our kin folk paraded about with their hands to the world and our neighbors embraced the villagers with an open fist. But we were raised to hide our hands and hold tight to the love we found. Our kin folk brandished forked tongues and our neighbors borrowed any ear that turned their way. But we were raised to whisper into the ears of humble of the love we found. Our kin would make riddles that cursed the soft spoken and the neighbors would accuse us of being ashamed of our token. But we were raised to be patient and we were raised to sing, to whisper such a lovely thing. peace to your heart it shall bring. To hold such a passion buried so deep this precious love you shall keep.

I've never been one to count the stars, sitting out in the wind trying to put a number on something I don't even understand seemed pointless. And when I ride in the automobiles the clouds always look like animals, never like people. I've never spotted a cloud and thought it looked like my aunt Linda. You could ask me why but I wouldn't have an answer. You could ask me again and I could lie to you. Stare right into your eyes and tell you that deep down I doubt clouds have any use for mimicking us humans. Why look like something that walks around on two legs when you could look like a wild beast running on all fours with not a care in the world. My first memory was on a summer day, I was dressed in my cowboy vest with my trusty plastic six iron on my side. I was attempting to put the sheets on my bed though I had no idea why. From an early age the idea of making your bed was ridiculous to me. Mom was in the hallway folding clothes and singing an old gospel hymn: "could we with ink the ocean fill, and were the skies of parchment made; were every stalk on earth a quill, and every man a scribe by trade; To write the love of God above would drain the ocean dry; Nor could the scroll contain the whole, Tho stretched from sky to sky" if you walk into the church where I was raised and pick up the ole hymnals. Turn to page 220 and you will find the corner of the page folded down on most of the books. When the choir sang it. hearing my dads voice stand out in the bass parts and the white haired saints singing so beautifully off key my mind went back to the day with my cowboy vest and mom with her denim jeans and hair pulled back in a red hair tie. I never ran away as a child, instead I faked migraines and made myself sick so the other kids wouldn't think I was a weirdo for wanting to be with my mom. I had on a purple tank top and borrowed pants the first time I saw a man holding another mans hand. I was in the grocery store and they made me angry. Not because they held each other hands but they were standing in front of the chips I wanted. Hold whoever s hand you want, just don't stand in front of the tater chips. She was the child of happenstance and had pocketfulls of second chances, and with every palm she kissed a part of her was left behind.

that's all I gotta say.

I pray dear sister that they burn us at the stake. Oh dear sister I pray they bind our hands with twine so when the flames eat at our wrists our bonds break free. My dearest sister I pray that with free hands we embrace and break bread with the fire. And my dearest sister the flame in our hearts will make the pyre around our legs seem nothing more than a campfire made by children in the snow. Oh sister of mine when our voices harmonize with the crackling of the wood I pray the town cover their ears and grow heavy with sorrow. Sister when they go to collect our ash their shovels will be bare. Because dear sister of mine you know better than I that our ashes are not theirs to claim.