No, that’s not what lovers do.

Pulling splinters from your brain

Looking for something to hew

My skin gets wet before the rain

Pulling splinters from your brain

Letting vowels unlace

My skin gets wets before the rain

Fingers slip in the space

Letting vowels unlace

Your hands collect the dew

Fingers slip in the space

I should’ve known to mother you.

Your hands collect the dew

Your eyes water like a child’s

I should’ve known to mother you;

No, that’s not what lovers do.