He came to me under the streets lights. the moon was hiding away.
He told me, "it's best you do not fight" and there was nothing I could say.
I slipped My hand into his coal stained fingers and let him kiss my lips
gritty hair and muddy clothes, and his arms that hugged my hips.
No one else knew his name.
he was just another picker out of the mines.
he told me out of shame.
when he'd stole my only wine.
Down by the carbondale, I lathered him up in soap.
scrubbing at his blackened hands was all that gave us hope.
another night he had given me, a pretty little thing
tonight I cleaned him up to show my father, our engagement ring.
 Blonde_Buhnnie · Fri Nov 18, 2011 @ 06:57am · 0 Comments |
