layers of static hang like fogged up window panesMature

Layers of static hang
like fogged up window panes
between us.

And everything I’m about to say,
teetering, treacherous, between my teeth,
vanishes.

I find myself haunting these in-betweens,
lingering in the details in the background and
in you.

I want the calamity of the rigmarole,
the mercurial fervor I remember from
once or twice before. 

Let’s steal a car and get lost in the backseat.

The End

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