Sunday, February 8, 2009

You're over it--the novelty. Not done though, cause that ain't all I am. Did ya feel, it's getting warmer?
Did you tell yourself you're not worth the handful of trinkets you found
diving in creeks at the bottom?
Slept with the window open a crack. The wind at night cleared me out/up.
Like crying at your high school dance, hearing the droning romantic sounds behind 3 or 4 walls. Fake stars shinin' blue. The sparkle catches you, again and every single fucking time. So much that when we get off the bus, you
grab my arm and look at me the way you're not supposed to.
You tell me if you could you'd kiss a line up my face, from my chin, to my lips, to my nose, to my forehead.
Sounds weird, maybe, but the conviction on your own face is tangible in the space between yours and mine. Like those hangin stars, suspended, you know, no one's movin. We're both too serious about this to fuck it up with reality.
We don't move, just look at eachother. I almost grab your face and kiss you.
You know I'm too afraid, though.
The driver says, "either you're on the bus or you're off it."
You say "bye" and i just hold up a hand.
You get on the bus.
Coulda stood there forever, not moving with you.

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