Honeyed vision,
hums of crickets join the air.
Your whistle dances on
the tip of the sun’s edge.
Today shall we trek
into the belly of the cloudlands?
Wherever we may land,
I know my voice will meet yours
and together they will tumble through
the ears of the prairies and
the ole running well.
Oh! How the daylight coos
when dancing upon
the blonde strands of your eyebrows.
As you strum the phone lines,
I melt into the dawn of a spring day that
are your fiery hazel eyes.
Spinning bike tires, the black hills, muddy lakes.
Diners, train rides, forests, gravel roads.
Barren fields, clear lakes, the edge of the earth.
You were there,
I was home.
hums of crickets join the air.
Your whistle dances on
the tip of the sun’s edge.
Today shall we trek
into the belly of the cloudlands?
Wherever we may land,
I know my voice will meet yours
and together they will tumble through
the ears of the prairies and
the ole running well.
Oh! How the daylight coos
when dancing upon
the blonde strands of your eyebrows.
As you strum the phone lines,
I melt into the dawn of a spring day that
are your fiery hazel eyes.
Spinning bike tires, the black hills, muddy lakes.
Diners, train rides, forests, gravel roads.
Barren fields, clear lakes, the edge of the earth.
You were there,
I was home.
