And let the heartache roll past your fingertips.
The tears aren’t there, but you wish they were.
Everything terrible and beautiful scratches at the
Glass, wanting to seep beneath your windowpane,
Your hand is on the latch
Waiting to turn, to let in the night air
In like a flood, like a torrent in which
You so desperately want to drown.
Green eyes behind the rim of a glass, perfume and blue jeans.
The music begins, as your heartbeats approach.
The air is pulsating, throbbing
And it surrounds you, permeates you in every way imaginable.
You can rub it between your palms,
Under your tongue, between your lips,
Past every rosy corpse of words you never said.
In 13 jets, you suck it in between your teeth
And let it evaporate the very edges of moistened gums.
You can’t being to fathom, but then
You don’t really want to
Step, turn, release, step turn,
If only she would stop smiling, you could see straight.
The dark is luminescent against the shadows along the walls, dancing.
Each hair on the back of your neck stands in turn,
Attesting to the flittering phantom of half-time in your head,
And still, your hand remains on the latch.
Too tired to sleep, too aware to think, you’re
Caught up in these moments, a net of
Yesterdays and faces; Motions and glances.
You are not alone
You tell yourself in the echoing places,
You are not alone.
