goodnight moon.
and the car door shuts with a conclusive thud, but you've never felt more open. and you bound up the stairs, gathering speed, spinning, twinkling. and the top step has just a tad more spring than you recall, so you can't help but rise, because now you are velocity itself.
and you rise above the sidewalks, the bus stops, the points by which you used to chart your daily existence. and you rise above the overflowing rubbish bins, the shredded remnants of burritos, the bums who laugh her name. and you, rise, even, above the windswept hill where you huddled, entwined against the chill, trying to glean from calvin's gaze whether he might've been singing about the both of you.
and then, fuel spent, you settle in the mare tranquillitatis of your very own bed; thrusters down, covers up. and you ponder listening to the moz croon 'boxers' another half dozen times, just because you can.
and you will, because you too have been sucker-punched.
and you rise above the sidewalks, the bus stops, the points by which you used to chart your daily existence. and you rise above the overflowing rubbish bins, the shredded remnants of burritos, the bums who laugh her name. and you, rise, even, above the windswept hill where you huddled, entwined against the chill, trying to glean from calvin's gaze whether he might've been singing about the both of you.
and then, fuel spent, you settle in the mare tranquillitatis of your very own bed; thrusters down, covers up. and you ponder listening to the moz croon 'boxers' another half dozen times, just because you can.
and you will, because you too have been sucker-punched.