maybe they’re wrong
when the blue night becomes fragile
on the yarn of a sunken yawn
playing between two waves that
are still still waters
but will one day see the world together
until they crash into our naked laughter
maybe they’re wrong
when the bar is already full
with green sniffing the vinyls long since forgotten
hanging there
with dear written in taxidermist smoke and spit
that never makes it to the right throats
even as we share a drink
maybe they’re wrong
when the glasses are broken a second time
after concession stands and bargain hunting
where beautiful women advertise
how the hand blown curves
hold anything one can desire
which you remind is exactly the problem
maybe they’re wrong
when ancient cities whisper the myths of this
into the tiny patterns of hungry birds
that call to time without time
to heal the wounded single sun
that bleeds on us too
maybe they’re wrong
when the keys collected no longer work
when the envelops remain unopened
when they aren’t
about wrong
about when
about maybe
for one day
apart and alone
we will become exactly what we wanted
when we learned to want each other
in waves
then
the days will go on
just right
Mizpellt wurdz 
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