some long since gone

some long since gone song playing on the radio,

a dusty stereo between us,

nighttime moon plucked out of the sky and

replaced with an overhead lamp,

bouncing off the car windshield.

if it was a movie, we'd be an hour in,

with warm darkness and breathy air,

tasting the smiles on our faces,

except -

promises. i don't keep,

it's minutes not milestones,

bricks under our feet not clouds,

if my head's above the waves then you've

always been drowning,

holding my hand underwater

while

i let you sink.

i'll let the heat linger,

i'll let the warmth seep into our bones a little

longer, but

our hands touching isn't

electric, but ordinary.

ordinary like your car radio and everything else.

puddles in my chest,

i can see it in your eyes that

you hope, still, that

you'd touch my nose or my face

if i let you.

my mouth, perhaps, if you tried.

please don't send me flowers,

when

i've got nowhere to put them,

and they'll droop and drown in the

moonless nighttime air.

sunlight would find the petals, and

dust motes would dance in the air,

and they'd shrivel up

on my

bedside table, where you'd

never ever see them.

nighttime moon plucked out of the sky and

not enough light

to hold onto, so

it's dark enough to breathe in dust

and think about how, maybe,

we could pretend none of this really

happened

at all.