To the Lighthouse

It silently seeming 
These eggshell ribs
Weaving into your hands
Can't sustain this breathing
It weighs on my chest
His lungs are filled with water from the tide
From the tide
And I watch them go by

Can't define a purpose
Our hands set adrift
Islands, cobwebs forming
Coalesce through the vapor
Some strange trembling gas
In sleep, I dream of houses in the sky
In the sky
And I watch them go by

Sometimes I'm pulled away 
From my own misery
Your hands cover me
Eyes drift slowly

Sleep the summer chill
And sheets of linen
Hush the scattered sound 
Of time dispersing

Sometimes I'm pulled away 
From my own misery
Your hands cover me
Eyes drift slowly

Sleep the summer chill
And sheets of linen
Hush the scattered sound 
Of time dispersing