My city makes ’em pretty.
St. Paul. Where a dimes conversion rate exceeds 50.
Like the value rises once you cross the Mississippi.
For me, Minne girls can move way too quickly,
They tend to be risky, so crossing that river gets tricky.
Bridges join where our lips meet and dam currents into streams,
While the water between, though it’s not clean, helps filter the muck to see clear dreams of one queen.
Particularly a misses from my home, one that’s walked the same streets.
Robert. Smith. Wabasha. 7th. Summits peak.
They map the path of my hearts walls that contain helpless beats.
River seems to split it. Moving miles a minute. Broken and ripped like a tide that says quit it.
But I’d rather swim for a bit.
And I wanna dive deep. Let the leak seep and the drips drop.
Maybe give this thing a shot like the damn safety was always gonna remain off.
You know, if I can’t breathe, I’ll just cough.
Desperate gasps, if there’s still water on the lungs, I forgot.
Evidence from drinking you in. Soaking like a sponge.
Worth the risk of drowning to taste the life on your tongue.