Song after Song

Sad music from my phone to earbuds, a small glass full of brown liquor on the rocks, a weight I can’t put into words.

Song after song, as I look out the window at the winter stars, waiting for droning insects to see to the morning birds.

I dream of love, of that red haired woman in the pink and white hoodie, the silky ends of her hair spilling from her hood.

Out of a chance encounter I make a world, the flaming sword in my hand, us king and queen of a haunted and dark wood.

And as those morning birds finally arrive, as the sirens are at their cruelest tenderness, I dream of us in an embrace.

Our eyes meeting and the sky being kind in its omnipotence, and the stars remade as angels, as she touches my face.

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