Sunshine, we all see the same sky.
I. Fall
We watched the stars mark the sky like spray from a cola can on a rollercoaster. What a ride, eh? We lived in a wasteland. I met you under a leaky umbrella where music couldn’t be heard. The only noticeable culture sloshed through the sticky sewer system to the piping of Apartment 1A. I assumed it would be easy to disappear. I packed my bags full of distorted sepia portraits, and those autumn leaves we frolicked in. I followed one-way tracks out of town. Your last minute "I love you" left a rose-colored stain on my self-esteem.
II. Winter
The mountain passes were as frozen over as we were. I found beauty in the night snowfall. The town locals argued that my knit scarf would better serve as a noose. The moon ‘s glow turned my drunk hands into martini shakers. As much as I shivered, I took pride in refusing your jacket-a façade. An invitation to ring in the new year with a cigarette flavored kiss at midnight. Our chemistry was enough to heat your apartment. And since. Eyes closed, I pretend to trail my fingertips along your back doubling that cocoa-stirred-with-a-candycane sensation.
III: Spring
Your beard grew, as I watched the cherry blossoms bloom from a distance. I danced in my boy-cut underwear to music you hadn’t heard. I secretly wished Spring Equinox would bring our bodies back together. And since. Vienna was too busy flirting to wait for anyone this long.
IV: Summer
Eyes opened, now glued to summer skies. And since. Thermometer breaking temperatures bring back the familiar taste of your sweat. Blackness masked by light pollution from an overhanging chandelier of skyscrapers. Glistening beads of "what about me’s?" seep onto my pillow. Neediness and affection drip down my arched back. Selfish Seattle-never shares the stars with anyone. Sometimes a pinprick of light appears behind dead trees at sunset. Otherwise, the sky sits in my stomach like a glass of black water.
We watched the stars mark the sky like spray from a cola can on a rollercoaster. What a ride, eh? We lived in a wasteland. I met you under a leaky umbrella where music couldn’t be heard. The only noticeable culture sloshed through the sticky sewer system to the piping of Apartment 1A. I assumed it would be easy to disappear. I packed my bags full of distorted sepia portraits, and those autumn leaves we frolicked in. I followed one-way tracks out of town. Your last minute "I love you" left a rose-colored stain on my self-esteem.
II. Winter
The mountain passes were as frozen over as we were. I found beauty in the night snowfall. The town locals argued that my knit scarf would better serve as a noose. The moon ‘s glow turned my drunk hands into martini shakers. As much as I shivered, I took pride in refusing your jacket-a façade. An invitation to ring in the new year with a cigarette flavored kiss at midnight. Our chemistry was enough to heat your apartment. And since. Eyes closed, I pretend to trail my fingertips along your back doubling that cocoa-stirred-with-a-candycane sensation.
III: Spring
Your beard grew, as I watched the cherry blossoms bloom from a distance. I danced in my boy-cut underwear to music you hadn’t heard. I secretly wished Spring Equinox would bring our bodies back together. And since. Vienna was too busy flirting to wait for anyone this long.
IV: Summer
Eyes opened, now glued to summer skies. And since. Thermometer breaking temperatures bring back the familiar taste of your sweat. Blackness masked by light pollution from an overhanging chandelier of skyscrapers. Glistening beads of "what about me’s?" seep onto my pillow. Neediness and affection drip down my arched back. Selfish Seattle-never shares the stars with anyone. Sometimes a pinprick of light appears behind dead trees at sunset. Otherwise, the sky sits in my stomach like a glass of black water.