found your pulse in a tic in my eye on our way home from the beach drove straight 200 miles with your face pressed against the window fast asleep
i'd swing by when i got off of work swearing sky-high this would be our last hurrah
your hand was woven into my hair that night and as i laid awake and stared your watch against my ear scratched through my every last defense i'd been preparing half a year so i probably won't smile if you ask me where the time went

got there just in time to miss the sun come up and see it spread across the surface as if god had spilled his cup before we drove off singing so loud that the car alarms erupted and the bums all stuck their fingers in their ears
later light got tangled in the gold knots of your hair when you told me i should smile so that it wasn't just a stare and i tried to make you make yourself aware that i cared and i don't need you to tell me how that sounds

that swimming sun, that goddamn sand, that stretch of abalone seashore glittering by myrtle water shredding feet and unsuspecting hands
my five foot gal, my long lost prayer, my two bit hopes were dangled at an arm's length by a seagull with a kitestring in its bill. when i dove you saw me swallow sand and choke and when i tried to stand you laughed and ran away. somewhere out there someone else can see the sunrise without thinking of the next one chasing them across the highway as they try their all god-damndest not to scream: trying not to wake you up, knowing it's no use. if i find a next time we're not gonna leave until i've said it