The city is hard
you don’t look like yourself
but my heart is so soft
I see glimmers of you
count my bruises in the mirror
there you are, there you are
crying in shaky breaths once you’ve gone
your laughter is home
feel my tears freeze en route to the bar
If I had tasted even a glimpse of the sting
how can a man hold all the stars in the sky
would I have made a home in these pages
and crumple inward like this
packed up a life, determined and ready,
I curse the concrete for scraping so coldly
and, fuck, the rush of vibrant everything
wish for everyone I’ve loved to be sheltered
even the deepest of cuts feel, somehow, novel
We story the setting, rather than vice versa,
for a few hours, you and I press pause
where else could anyone want
trading stories and pop-tab cans
this life is a wild ride, we shriek and we thrill
tuck you in beneath the violet galaxy
and, if we’re crying, nobody gives much notice
you whisper, aw, look at the stars,
arms and legs akimbo as we sweep through the sky.
michael king 