I know that what
most deeply connects us
is more than half-hearted poetry.
It is not written words but
the ones spoken
halfway between
midnight and the next morning
as we ponder life and what we’re doing
here, thousands of miles
from each other and from
the stars yet close enough to know
what it feels like
to be glowing.
Halfway between two bad days and
the liquor that
stained them both,
the bad taste in my mouth is
made sweeter with your words,
the late nights joining us together
like the lights strung over your porch steps.
But leave those lights now and
watch the sun,
hanging an hour lower
over my sky than yours,
the same colors painting our
skylines pastel
as it sets tonight.
Drive to me with your hands
off the wheel
and you’ll know what it feels like to
be alive, glowing,
biting back the darkness halfway
to morning.
most deeply connects us
is more than half-hearted poetry.
It is not written words but
the ones spoken
halfway between
midnight and the next morning
as we ponder life and what we’re doing
here, thousands of miles
from each other and from
the stars yet close enough to know
what it feels like
to be glowing.
Halfway between two bad days and
the liquor that
stained them both,
the bad taste in my mouth is
made sweeter with your words,
the late nights joining us together
like the lights strung over your porch steps.
But leave those lights now and
watch the sun,
hanging an hour lower
over my sky than yours,
the same colors painting our
skylines pastel
as it sets tonight.
Drive to me with your hands
off the wheel
and you’ll know what it feels like to
be alive, glowing,
biting back the darkness halfway
to morning.
