The further from the edges the further from the trim the fewer the coats the less you put in I've got a drawer full of your notes and word games that we played on planes and five pages at least of you practicing signing your first with my last name somewhere there's an orange on the table somewhere there's a robe on the floor and our writing on the wall is under three coats of paint in an apartment we don't live in anymore laying eggs or even birth at all a shoebox full of photographs from before the fall your dirty feet laid bricks below my hands I want to say you belong here I want to pretend that we both belong but tell me how you thought that they would react to your parrot colored song When you are old and gray I hope that someone holds you the way that I would