I could click New Post
and let my fingers dance to Bonobo
after a few beers
and think of you,
my spinning clay,
who wants to move her own way.
I could insufflate the crystalline phenethylamine
that beckons me from the dark drawer
and sit outside and watch our stars
swirl their pastel dreams
until the damn sunrise
and sleep all day
just to pass the time
so I could write about it
after spilling myself
and our potential
all over your back.
I could live for whatever reason seems most right
as its fleeting like our lives
into something else,
something blurry,
something beautiful.
I could pick up my guitar and shred
to reveal a smile
that my father gave to me.
I could close my eyes
one last time
and it wouldn’t even matter who I was
or who was around
like a drop of water
falling into the sea.
I can’t deny what you do to me.
I turn the music up louder.
I let the ethanol bind to the GABA and metabolize.
I gather knots and undo them in the only true sun
from the inside out.
Anything could be said.
Anything could be done.
There is something whispering my name
into my ear.
Something keeping me
in check.
Even as the Earth begins to burn again-
We hold hands and dance around the fire
clock-wise.