Waiting for YouI don’t mind waiting for you. When you’re lonely, any meaningful conversation is worthwhile. Even the kind you have to wait an hour or two for. Maybe especially that kind. The kind you stay up late for, reading to pass the time, or constantly glancing at the clock, hoping. The kind you walk around the block a few times for, even in the cold. The kind you would have over tea if you could but you can’t because you’re both going home and you’re tired of the day but not of each other and, you know, one cup wouldn’t hurt.
Perfect Strangers -- Half LifeThey knocked on each side of the door at the same time, cautiously. They knocked again, confused. The door opened, tentatively.
They smiled at the same time, almost embarrassed by their synchronicity. But they weren’t. They would never admit it, but both of them were secretly glad they had found each other, a perfect stranger.
They spoke no words, so as not to ruin the effect. And, in return, no words found them. Their eyes drank in each other, greedily attempting to slake the unquenchable, before the door closed between them, slamming them each back into their own respective worlds.
They both knocked on the door from opposite sides, startled by the instant echo. One pushed, the other pulled, and the door was open.
They shared a synchronised smile; secretly pleased to have found each other, perfect strangers.
No words were spoken; no need to. They sought only to look.
They knocked on the same door, opened it at the same time, smiled the same smile. Silence helped slake thei
into the deepAudio version over thisaway.
and the world will crumble, darling, but we will watch the stars--
watch the coasts curl up at the edges and the foam-slick sea drag them under
and history will bloom in brass and copper nebulas,
untainted by the tortured earth and its pleading
flecks of ash below.
but we will watch the stars
watch the galaxy unwind, spirals stringing out
the taste of ozone and plasticities.
the heaving sea will recede--the glaciers
pour their hearts out
the dunes rise up to the sated horizon.
will watch the stars.
and the hungering infernos hold no sympathy.
travelersthis silvertongued land
is fit for strange adventures
so we will roam as the city
sleeps, and the soft
of the camera shutter will lull the crickets
we will leave our trail
in incandescent flashes--
the negatives seared and crackling on
and drag our hearts on
moonshine wisps behind us--
gathering fog and scents and
strains of music
carried in on night-thin air.