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lyrics

Tender boats drift in and out
The left hand side of fathers mouth
The right sides where I sit, the south
And I see you kiss yourself to sleep, on both sides.

Marina sings her same old song
Passing over little golden drinks
And mothers sheets are hanging low
There’s a seldom sense or thought of you.

Oh, it’s a thin ol' moon
And the ropes they seem to rise and click
On a sea that somehow speaks to you
Better than your current company
In an air that likes to balance that
As it whips the side of your quivering jawline.

The vaults above hold chains, with words
That never moved but now they swing
Aggressively and drip with lust
And hold you up, with reflections of the way that you were, as a fine young thing.

Where you take your slumber
Is where I'll meet you at the end
Underneath your golden arc
Or seeking favors from a friend.

Whistling in the attic

credits

from Corvine: Columns & Verses, released January 1, 2020

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Aaron J. Burke Greenville, South Carolina

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