sitting in the grass with you

by shira

I never have anything to say
But want to tell you everything
Words are choking out
They’re in some other language
I'd die to translate
For anyone that could hear
Every note and color breathing

Maybe sometime I’ll ask you
How you got your eyes
I got mine from my mother
And my father gave me vision
How do you see the way you do
When everyone sees you

You remind me of a portrait
One you see on fourth-grade field trips
Too much to understand
But want to touch it anyway
And hope some of the paint
Comes off forever
Lodged underneath your fingernails