Augusta, GA

Flipping through the pages of our diary

A memoirs worth of messages from you and me

Both good and bad advice

Recalling should haves

And could haves

A distance from both of our worst enemies

On this page

Mississippi John Hurt plays

With a hand on your neck

And a hand around my waist

It 'cause trouble

And I've had it all

With these slowdancing Sundays

Some red wine

A summerdress

A pair of handrolled cigarettes

We're descriptive to keep

With descriptions

We're convicts to lack of conviction

So skip to the back and read the index

Put your trust in the dust sleeves of hardbacks

'Cause it's as fleeting as

The feeling of being 18 again

I've turned the tables

It's your house in Georgia now

We're seeming stable despite mistakes

That we'd allow

Can't blame your past this time around

So please don't make a sound

'Cause I'm shaking hands with common sense

I'm bridging gaps from innocence to versed

I'm telling you

We're cursed

Flipping through the pages our diary