wearemostaliveindreams:

city lights
wander by,
the air picks
at my skin.

those macabre notes
bleed, from your radio
and nothing seems so slow,
as your hands
picking nervously,
at denim fields.

vinyl blushes
from red lights,
while the homeless
curtsy and handshake.

a clock stops ticking
and i finally breathe,
letting this road
drift on for hours.

and hours.
and hours.

until we meet the moon
cuddling the horizon.
a slender crescent,
pale and inviting
with, enough room for two.

i almost hope,
we never get there.