I hope someone will call 911 when my car spins out of control on the highway. Its gonna hurt. I will probably cry out for someone. Maybe wherever they are, they will look up from whatever it is they are doing and think of me, because that's how it works.
I think I finally know what it means to be part of this city. The first greeting came with a pang of fear, the second with internal warmth. My feet can carry me just as well through a drive-thru ATM machine as any sort of car may. I can creep down Decatur just as well as anyone.
We ran up your ice-cream-parlor stairs 4 times, twice for each load of laundry. The third time, you put your hand on mine. The fourth time, it had become dark in your room. The perfect waste of a beautiful day.
Smoke-filled lungs, and cold hands. I'm making waves in a hazy-cloud. I'd probably rather be wine drunk. I can see you though. Then we're screaming in your car and I'm fading faster into your passenger seat. We're singing, we're pouring out every last breath, into your car. It sticks to the window, it evaporates:
"I love you, I must confess"
I'm fading faster into your pillow, your sheets. I'm asleep.
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