A destination is nothing short of gorgeous,
lucid waters shallower than it seems. The theater
has applause enough for one. I believe in his dimples
instead, brazen ship windows big as dimes, clasped
firmness leading me to light. We pleat into tear-stiffened
curtains that screen us from wind, cling each other
tighter, unpeeling desperation from our clothes.
I ask you to toss me something heavier than your name
to hold, less perishable than the peonies stolen
fresh as bruises. On this borrowed balcony,
maybe we’ll regret this inconstance, this violence,
these attempts to create a more subdued reality.
The sky lashes around us, a film trapping our bodies,
preserving the sanctity of brevity as spectacle. We stunt
warzone, forbidden, forbearance. Resolution
& the illusion of it. Youth sanded down by the hands
of their watch. We are flooded in coined
hoots. They get happier, we stay the same.