Anya Marina

I don't remember much of anything
Of those years,
Kind of strange and kind of sad
Considering all the laughs
And all the tears.
Could it be this quiet cul-de-sac
Or the cynical moon?
Could it be the neighbor's cat watching
Me from the living room?
Either way, these days I feel so strange
I remember you, so strange,
Do you remember me secretly?
So I comb the depths of the ocean floor
Of my memory; grasping onto some
Shell, some piece some evidence
Of you and me:
Sunlight streams in mornings
Your head in the sheets
Dancing naked in the living room