[update] face pressed into the corduroy grooves;
I can feel the restlessness creeping, creeping down.
And to me I beckon it, unfurl fingers like petals about my palm.
Recessional [listen]
VIENNA TENG
It's so beautiful here, she says.
This moment now, this moment now.
And I never thought I would find her here.
Flannel and satin, my four walls transformed.
She's looking at me, straight dissenter,
No room at all for any other thought.
And I know I don't want this. Oh, I swear I don't want this.
There's a reason I don't want this, but I forgot.
In the terminal, she sleeps on my shoulder;
Hair falling forward, mouth all askew.
Flourescent announcements beat their wings overhead:
Passengers missing, we're looking for you.
And she dreams through the noise, her weight against me,
Face pressed into the corduroy grooves.
Maybe it means nothing. Maybe it means nothing
Maybe it means nothing, but I'm afraid to move.
And the words, they're everything and nothing.
I want to search for her in the offhand remarks:
Who are you-- taking coffee no sugar?
Who are you-- echoing street signs?
Who are you-- the stranger in the shell of a lover,
dark curtains drawn by the passage of time?
Oh, words like rain, how sweet the sound.
Well anyway, she says, I'll see you around.