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My favorite part of the afternoon
is the six-hour journey in the back of an airbus
with the telltale rejects.

Breakfast.

Breathing in the colorful tang of oranges
that fell to the floor last night
when the town was nearly demolished
by angry fruit salesmen.

You smell like bananas and lime Jell-O—
awakening my slight sense of adolescence
I lost somewhere in a shoe store
last year.

(Department stores harbor the greatest
collection of abandoned character traits
nowadays.)

Setting ourselves on fire
with borrowed acid tablets and
riding imaginary bicycles toward
midnight…

I have never slept so beautifully.

And looking down on the melting city
with your sweaty palms
seeping into my
fingertips…
you’re as real as they come.

Sitting on a fence with you without
shoes and the weather lingering
around us…
I’m as stationary as insomnia as clouds bleed from my ears.

Our toes can’t touch the ground
and I can hear you daydreaming.

Now it’s raining clocks and teacups—
perfectly addictive beverages storming the rotten fruit
under our beautifully unboring bare feet,
echoing our youth throughout the sleepless city…

And I’m falling in love with this anti-silence.




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