who needs thrift stores when I have you

[fixme_in45]

the comfort in you wrapped around my neck.

and who knew

that you can embrace my silly blue,

that you can keep me warm

without being here, you know the form.

not present, but presence.

ah, fuck the form.

just know that you bleed into everything you touch

and i will always feel it


clothes exchange in tenderness

fabric, haze, and then the heat.

what's mine is yours is mine is yours and

we find this allure in the blinded tours

of where your shirts begin and where mine ends


i watch you sway in the pants i almost decided to trash

somehow you cherish that blood orange kind of brash

and oh, it makes you flow

with a childish glee i'll always die to make you feel

again, and again, and again, and again.


clothes exchange in tenderness

fabric, haze, and then the heat.

what's mine is yours is mine is yours and

we find this allure in the blinded tours

of where your shirts begin and where mine ends

of where your shirts begin and where mine ends


we find this in ignorance

to the constant dance

of where your soul begins and where mine ends


clothes exchange in tenderness

fabric, haze, and heat

how do you feel about my unencumbered browns

peeking over your blue-tinted shades?

cuz I think, well. I think they could make me paint all the towns

all the towns that fucked me over in spades

the power held in those damn shades