Sunday, April 26, 2009

the down town.

We are reaching for fresh air, 
outside this hazy bar. 
thrusting our hands in your pockets. 
looking for the thing that makes you free
 and keeps us breathing this smog
something in your skin that looks so clean
pale and sweating in this foreign night
creeps up our fingers and twists
sharply
around our wrists and we are caught again
in these thin gold cords 
that you slide around our slender wrists our slender necks
until we            choke

we have been waiting all our lives
for the chance to drop these breaks and go
but we sit here with the brakes on
under this red light glow

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