Small Hands

Miss you terribly already,
Miss the space between your eyelids,
Where I’d stare through awkward sentences
And avoid through awkward silence
Miss your teeth when they chatter,
When we smoked out in my garden
When we couldn’t sleep for all the heat,
Soft talk began to harden.
Miss your small hands in the palm of mine
The fact they’re good at making,
Miss your sitting up incessantly,
And the fact you’re always waking in the night, night.
And I,
I hope for your life
You forget about mine
Forget about mine
Miss your teeth dug in my shoulder,
As we rolled in early morning,
Miss your arm dying beneath me,
As I lay there simply yawning
Please forget me, you were right dear,
I am cold and self-involved,
And though I’ll miss you, recent lover
I am weak and therefore fold
Get distracted by my music,
Think of nothing else but art
I’ll write my loneliness in poems,
If I can just think how to start
Dot my I’s with eyebrow pencils,
Close my eyelids, hide my eyes,
I’ll be idle in my ideals,
Think of nothing else but I.
I, and I
And I,
I hope for your life
You can forget about mine
Just forget about mine
Oh, mine.
Keaton Henson

Acts Of Man

Trust Midlake to pen something so great. It mirrors my yearning to return to something simpler. My ground has broken open, from the inside I want to be inside and part of it.
If all that grows starts to fade, starts to falter
Oh, let me inside, let me inside, not to wait
Let all that run through the fields through the quiet,
Go on with their, own with their own hidden ways

When all newness of gold travels far from
Where it had once been,
Born like the earth over years
And when the acts of man
Cause the ground to break open
Oh, let me inside, let me inside, not to wait

Great are the sounds of all that live
And all that man can hold

If all that grows starts to fade, starts to falter
Oh, let me inside, let me inside, not to wait
Great are the sounds of all that live
And all that man can hold

Great are the sounds of all that live.