Ain’t Comin’ Baby Runnin’ (day 512)

You’ve got the look of a prowler with your leathers on so tight
Bounded by desire and your whistles blowing right tonight
I’ve locked myself into this room and I ain’t comin out
Run baby run, I ain’t the right breed for your sweet soul
Lavished in roses and smelling like the clean springs water
I’ve run through the wrong parts of town
I’ve held the wrong kind of jobs
I’ve pissed off the wrong kind of men
Now, I’m just a two-bit gangster
Rolling around in the mud on a cold winters day
Don’t rub my roots baby
Don’t come her rubbing my roots

These Dreams (day 176)

I want to run my hands
Along the coast of your heart
Down the ridge of your back
Along the peaks of your curves

I want to create these memories
Like sun baked carvings in the sand
Washed away with time
It was about the game rest assured

I want to traverse these cliffs
With the gravity of your kiss
Propelled with your hands
Gently urging me forth

I want to lounge in these valleys
Where the grass does grow deep
I want to lounge in these valleys
I want to sing with these trees