The Cross-Town Walk Home
The cross-town walk home kills me everytime, when weaving through parkland, my pysche wanders a different path
l replay those moments, short and sweet and salty and the laughter pealing from a rain-stained face as l watch you exist, beautifully, but
l'm scared, so scared.
The cross-town walk gnaws at my chilling bones and the way l say 'belly' echoes in my ears as l imagine mine growing
but it can't
l'll pray for it not.
The cross-town walk walks off a baby,
walks off a maybe,
walks off my fear,
walks my heart clear
and walks you no longer near.