We’re not gonna worry about it now
this place this year this collision
of the decade into the new age,
this burning book so hot you can’t
even see the page.
Walking out from under overpasses
between rows of abandoned cars
humming songs we haven’t heard
for several years now. She licks
her fingers and we follow the wind
back to the ocean commandeering
the last boat left in the harbor.
Dark waters just like blue glass
centerpieces at suburban kitchen tables.
So many stars just like the looks
that travel from one side of the bar
to the other. We drink in the cabin space,
she tells me to slow down and that it’s
not a race. I hit back with that it’s only
cause she’s losing.
Expanse
Teleporting Typewriter 