between the glass
framed atop the nightstand,
beneath tired neon signs and
streetlights piqued at a sojourning Selene,
dancing with my hand.
tote me,
lens to euphoria,
along where vision is fogged only by an
overcast
cloud nine, and the concept of time’s
abstract as ankle biters on our shins.
where
everything is black and white
because the world doesn’t waste its light
reflecting on
what it knows it can never get back.
so it cries,
and you hate umbrellas,
and so do i,
because a child at heart
knows the true fountain of youth.
in this moment today,
i’d be drowning in accusations of lunacy,
but with my other half,
madness
is just frolicking in the rain.
until it clears the fog away,
as they wish it would with
my glasses’ supposed “rose tint,”
but they’re only cleaner,
and the fog is clearer
so we’ll keep going …
an automatic sliding door’d
forgo the grandeur
of your announced arrival
through that bell-strung entrance.
modern sensors only detect
common-folk,
rendering queens no more.
it all makes sense.
and inside the store …
sitting on the counter:
twenty pennies –
for the thing I’ll crave
always
second-to-most.
i’ll go for a milkshake again
when there can be two straws.