Cussing the silence was never the plan. But I lost myself in some others hands. In a basement bedroom. Like shadows we’d move until you were through. We slept through the winter bearing all that we got. We’d sit and talk about how this was not what we had planned. Or how this would end. With both of us shaking hands? But you’ll call at my door. And I’ll fall for it once more. And when I wake I’m by myself. Just and empty bed to tell. A few short words and you quit me in the garage with the smell of gasoline that stuck to our jeans. And that fake Christmas tree we left for the next family. You packed up your things, girl. Its what you did the best. You left behind what you can’t confess. The sins you never told. Some lost Catholic gold. I debt, so it goes. But you’ll call at my door. And I’ll fall for it once more. And when I wake I’m by myself. Just and empty bed to tell. I wait like a clock in that house. My arms pointing each hour out. If you could see it now, I’d sing it out. I’m not afraid you’re not alone. But what has changed?