There is something spectacular humming
in the wall's copper wires, something more
than carbon dioxide making the bubbles
in the drinks so round. These stimulants
don't do their job anymore so it's the
adrenaline kisses that are keeping us
awake: the way your earrings through
barely open eyes look like shattered
chandeliers while I'm out on the porch
kissing your neck catching the light.
There is a moment every night
when someone looks up from their drink,
saying, "This can't be real life, can it?”
and I always think: “Man, real life must
have been miserable.”
No comments:
Post a Comment