The hours between midnight and three
I take you out beneath the icy stars
with me where I see
my breath beneath the
bald street light, casting its white
luminescence across the
cracked faces of the sidewalk.
I find solace in these places.
Stillness in the rustling silence
of November leaves
curled and dead, scuttling
across the black seas of
grass in shadow.
I press play.
“…who’s agonized and gnawed through it all/I’m
underneath your tongue…
I’m standing in the street now/and I carry your guitar…”
The strangeness of this one song
I can’t seem to stop playing, the drawn-out
acoustic and monotonous siren of a sax
fill the night around me
it doesn’t matter anymore
I’ve given up on sleep for some time now.
I wait for the lyric that shows up–
“…to walk aside your favor, I’m an Astuary King…
I’ll keep it in a cave, your comfort and all”
I should be numb.
This is the only place I find you-out in
a deranged landscape that only seems to feel like
the engines of our lonely molecular madness
–how many nights like this
had we spent confessing —together.
Where one neurological disorder remedied
I miss you.
I am not lost by your absence.
I am, if anything, tossed about–my cheeks
flushed, and the only thing I doubt
is not the you and I and we,
because even if only for a while,
I had found my own
apocalypse that ended something so lonely
and breathed a part of myself back into me I never knew
I ‘d been missing–
camaraderie on this solitaire planet,
desires and secrets in the dark
like ghost stories giggled and whispered
I step onto the smooth pavement.
A gust of cold air blows my hair
out of my eyes, and I face that direction,
my body weightless and alone and so small
in this space;
he stole my gravity
and I don’t want it back.
I start walking, probably until just before sunrise.
I don’t know where or when.