What's the color of your eyes, he asked. Dark, I said, eventough they were green;

And I said 'hey sweet', called one last time.
'Are you ready, for this trip we've been planning?'
But the answer was quiet as night time in Wisconsin and it felt like winter, altought we were just in September.
As the flowers appear to die in our living room - how couldn't I see you're settling down?
Rooting far from where we called home, blind by a sunny feeling of welcome.
Into this new life we were only beginning to build - our pots, our walls, our vows - not so long, not so far.
And you said you're ready then. And we went.
With a pair of dark eyes, and too much licor in my liver.