Link your pinky finger with mine,
and we can run.
Run far, run home, run to the centre of a pentagram as the fog rolls through the woods.
I’m a stone cold fox but you’re looking for warmth,
thats why I stole your heart in December.
Warm summer wormhole, they call it;
the days collapse and fold in on themselves
(the sun’s gift to the moon)
so that we’re less afraid of the dark.
You can have my heart if you have the stomach to handle it.
Don’t be afraid, but be wary -
I’ll call you baby and you’ll think it’s because I love you, but
your name is just too big for my mouth.