October

I was hardly through with teething
when i met you on the kitchen tile, and you looked so young.
Well the room was shaking from the sounds we made,
and my arms they were filled with the dirt that they call young blood.
But on your screened-in porch, I would listen to the rain
while the fan it took your hair and swept it all across your face.
And the tv, it was screaming,
and I had waited all this time.
In my blue jeans, I saw your knees,
My face turned a bright, bright red,
and I swallowed my tongue.
Oh the hours you held me,
on the floor where I would weep.
My face was filled with the dirt that they call young love.
On the hotel roof, we watched the blue turn orange-gray.
And I could taste the morning light as it spread all across my face.
And in the evening, I was screaming,
because I had waited all this time.