Alive

I love the smell of old, battered books
cause they were, when you were
they're steeped in your breath

The air was cleaner
when you were

I didn't manage to be
when your body was
but I feel
like those books
so full of your breath
of your voice
of your soul

I can scratch the door
to the Garden Lodge
with my pain and anger
But the paint under my nails
will be washed soon
I can pour the water from Geneva Lake
into little bottle
and keep it close
to my heart
near this organ

Without this organ I couldn't live
but I could be alive
if I deserve on it

But the shortest way to get to know you
is to hear
to listen to you
Love You