we gallop the birches with our strep throats
our tired lungs like accordion bellows
we are born from mountains, our mouths are full of sand
we hide dusk in our pockets and we live off the land

my bones are made of wood
carved from evergreen
my skin is math equations
it's so hard to be clean

his brother will be my brother or
no one will keep secrets anymore
and we will walk the ocean floor
for just one terrible moment of warmth

we will never die, then