something tells me that there's more to
car rides
when you thumb the tongue of my boot
over stocking.
more to the advances your mouth makes
as we shuffle a deck of cards
in a small apartment
on an immeasurable campus
in a cluttered state
in a world of billions.
i'd like to think
that there's something more
to three years of
desperate phone calls
detailing the imminent deaths of grandparents,
the october moon,
the dream still warm on our foreheads;
but unaccountable moments
could be meaningless
or the purpose.
at the end of the world
in a small house
just off of an immeasurable campus
in a cluttered state
in a mass of billions
you confessed, "i know it's not right,
but i need you."
i stayed
numb like a wind-bit lip
and put you to bed on a staircase
as i watched the casablanca lily
of tomorrow
unfold.
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