The jeans are grass stains from a day of rolling down hills
Ripped on the fence we climbed over
To escape the terror we created in our own minds.
When we walk barefoot
Your toe catches the seashells and they break from your weight.
The moon is full
A face of smiles
You can only see with eyes half closed.
The car ride home is night time singing me to sleep
You drive and the cars around us are our friends
They belong to us and to the world.
You ask what I look forward to
And I say getting home.
I want to say something else
Something that means
I can’t see the future
But it is good
Painted in gold.