Mulberry juice drips from our lips,
delicate berries clasped in gentle handfulls,
the fruit will bleed anyway.

Sticky sweet running down my wrist,
coating my palms,
deep purple streaks down to my elbows,
I will bleed anyway.

It gets stuck under my nails,
annoying little reminders of our time together,
It's smeared across your cheek,
I couldn't help but touch your face,
you will bleed anyway.

The bandaids are too small to cover the scrapes
and bruises we got climbing deeper and higher into
the mulberry trees.
We will bleed anyway.