None of the senses can come to it
Used, at last, to your absence
Places to look for your mind
We fall asleep with one hand under our head
There is no limit to nothingness and dust
After you left i did just that
Coulda woulda shoulda
What can we say
If we met would you know me
Little by little and then not even that
Not an uncommon notion
It's not what it looks like
