(no subject)
It could end like this:
This air is dead, void of last spring’s levity, and cold settles under the wheel, around my feet.
Blue lights spin outside a diner and I think of you, in your bed
Sheets pulled over your head
as sleep reigns and I drive silently away from you.
The void of you makes the worst things even worse:
burnt coffee
a twisted ankle
insomnia and unwanted stares
the sound of a vacuum
a clock ticking
the weight, wait, waiting
and this unreasonable hollowness.
There will be songs forever unlistenable. There will be pictures I’ll have to hide
until the twang in my insides
goes away
and I can move nowhere but onward.
Or it could start like this:
You are all around me, you are warm and forgiving.
You are how I knew you and know you, how you feel and move.
You
talk to me about stars
borrow my camera
light candles for dinner
get in bed with dirty feet,
and fall asleep above me in the heat.
We can talk or not talk
and i promise I’ll listen to you.
Your bed will keep us from everything outside it on a slow Sunday.
The world will unfurl until it gets too far away,
and we choose to stop watching.
I’ll draw hearts around your name like a little girl
and keep meeting you in dreams.