This apartment sits nestled among car horns
and traffic lights. I sit where everyone will hear me.
Hot air seeps in through cracked windows, through
my words, through the static of the radio on the dresser.
Photographs pass through our eager hands around
the coffee table, the stories in them screaming louder
than we ever could. Our only television a crusted window,
we see sunlight kissing the edges of the city skyline.
A subtle stare hints the time. We walk outside
to meet a busy street corner and taxi cabs that
wrap around us in yellow ribbons. The night is young
and we surrender as its first victims, falling prey
to train melodies and sunkissed skylines. Fireflies
share secrets with the stars, the constellations are
in awe of us.
for the record, this is NOT my mood at the moment, i just felt like posting it. right now i feel much more like a crusted window than a firefly.