It's four in the morning...

This is the first thing I write in months
I've finally found a way to get back to you
And crawl back into your mouth
Get those words out from you.
I thought it was dead for good
At least that's what Cohen said
About his lover Jane
When he never tried.
I wish you could get back to me in some way
The way I'm trying to get back to you
Tracing you down every day
By the scent your clothes leave in the air
Or the strains your hair left on the doorway.
Tracking a mummy has never been too easy
Getting tangled up in her chords
In her tomb, where she has so indulgently
Buried herself.
I wish you could try to breathe for me, dear
Consider me a portal for your ways
Come down to me as you used to for so many days
We were once happy for months on end
Where did you go?
Stop telling me to leave your memory fade.

I wish you could try to breath for me, dear
My honey, my sweet
You were never dead to begin with.
This is the first thing my heart has written in months
Don't make me believe it'll also be its last.