I’m sketching new words in the dictionary,
some are bad, but some are pretty,
but in the end, they’re all about you.

We hold ourselves with baited breath,
lost steps and all the rest,
cocooned in our thoughts,
when it all happens too soon.

I’m sketching words you’re not ready to carry,
the thoughts are good, but would drown a ferry,
but they may just roll down a river,
of yours.

But I hold onto this with baited breath,
I don’t know the future,
or even what’s next,
But I can still feel the warmth by your side.