Tracers

* * * this is actually postdata * * * F , C tracers pressed my fingers inside your skin traced the lines the lines the lines the lines the lines that time dug in kept on tracing , tracing , tracing traced and traced until you were a girl of 13 years again before my grandpas callused hands trade your eyes for rocks and sand the times that stick inside your skull just sorta ferally clinging the times that stick when times not sticking a thousand pages in the wind ten thousand pages in the wind layed my body on your body pressed my hands inside your hands pressed my lips and kissed and kissed until i was 13 again pressed and pressed and pressed and pressed fill up my brains with soil and rock something to hold the remnants in with cattle herds and meteors and light showers and soil and rock times a diggin