snow begins to land on a city gone so grey: doesn't look ashamed, doesn't look bored cos things don't work that way while on a bench i wait, wasting time, for you to get off work.
since i haven't showered yet your glitter still shows on my neck as i light the last cigarette, but if i caught the call, if i heard the howl i'd stand and i wouldn't miss that train go by, smoke trailing like balloons in running hands: set free, they'd all float heavenly.
let's not go back to raleigh.
one day we'll hit the age we spin each other under-arm and laugh at anything to break the fucking norm. we can listen to the blues and pay the book club's dues and do what's due tomorrow, being what we can't refuse, or we could kill this now and you and i could leave the south--a plea for you to come with me.
and if you've got nothing to sell, and missing me seems cheaper than wishing me well, i'll scalp tickets to my hell to get you on that train
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