how far we all come away

in the hands of every bashful mother, is a quiet delay some calm to recover, accepting all kindness and blindness to all, them who fire away demanding a reason, and i'd never beckon or for one second dare, ever call you away o but they sing, embracing, for you, our bodies exhausted fall sideways to lay, and your arms made a place where my face liked to bury, then lifting but drifting away, to where the angels would play like you'd almost forgotten, and then on with the next breath so impossibly new, like the curve of your waist all warm and ceramic and smooth, i don't want to go home, i want to come home