Andrea Gibson - Stay | Текст песни

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• Andrea Gibson
• Stay

Stay.
There are snowflakes on my tongue I want to melt on your inner thigh.
There is a face in the moon I still call Jesus some nights.
My body is a temple where I’ve burned so many scriptures I see smoke every time I look in the mirror.
Stay.
Kiss me where the flames turn blue.
Tell me there are places on my skin that look exactly like the sky.
And your heart is a jetplane heavy with the weight of buisness men and crying babies but you’re done running for the exit row cuz god knows we have smoked the stars.
Made wishes on falling ashes.
Something’s got to give, it may as well be our fingers.
Touch me.
Till my ribs become piano keys
Till there is sheet music scrolled across the inside of my lungs cause im breaking old patterns.
For anyone else, I would rhyme and end this line with sauturn.
but you are not the type to wear rings and im not the type to want to celebrate forever
when right now is forever walking down the aisle unoticed.
hold me.
sing me lullabies at dawn when i’ve been up all night painting the wind to remind myself that things are moving.
we were talking mountains and snowboards when you said ill teach you how to fall.
and i said i bet you will
but my bruises will be half moons hanging above corn fields.
that yeild only crop circles.
you are a mystery i promise i will never try to solve
what science calls science i have always called miracle.
and since we met there have been days when i have said thank you so many times i could watch all my broken pieces curling into seeds to plant themselves in the bellies of saxaphones on street corners in new orleans
you can find music in places where you cannot find air.
so when you say you are homesick for my skin
my body sends you postcards from all its darkest corners and prays
you can still see the sun
climbing my bones like ocavtes
cause baby there were nights when my pulse did not win,
nights when my heartbeat stained the kitchen floor bright red.
but you once told me
we are most ailve in that split second before death
so i call ugly a four letter word.
and tell you i am tired of hearing myself swear.
beauty is in the eye of the beholder
you hold me
so well that i am almost conviced that smoke in the mirror might one day disappear.

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