Your damn little red roadster and all those iced coffees you buy me
we act as if we’re holy | | and we know we're in love | | (we pretend) | | PLEASE | | just one more day—
I love you. You love me. Yetneither of us
are very good atthis.
I don’t know ifwe
could ever be a you and me, but I do know that something aboutyour little red roadster
and all thoseiced coffees
you buy me makes thefoolish, naïve, part of my brain absurdly hope—
Somehow you can make
me believe I'm loved as much
as a saint's last prayer
.
We’re drinking champagne and whiskey on your roof and we knowwe’re in love
. Your arm is around my shoulders andwe neverdefine what we are.
I'm a hurricane manifested and I'll wreck you; still, please, kiss me— A grin,dark, hungry,
emerges as I drag bare feet across hardwood. I slidemy heel
down thecolumn of your spine
, and count the vertebrae—
We act as ifwe’re holy
, though we justrotto plant food in the end.
I letmyselfbethe
Icarus
to your sun for the chance to soar. To meetApollo
, I risked it all and got too close butstill: I flew.
I wish we could livehappily ever onward
, but that's notour fate: our stolen time is not enough; but we'llpretendfor justone more day
.
If hellfroze over, said,Children, run and hide,
would we dare take the chance?
Always one more
day.
Then just one more, not ready
yet for this to end.
(Please, don't remind us.)
(And all I have left to say
say is: let us dream still
—)
Photo by a stranger
Completely unrelated, read about the unendingly resilient Yazidi, still rebuilding ten years after being attacked by ISIS.