melting

i don't know what to say but that this structure fits a bit too tight for my liking. i don't know what to do but turn my stubborn mournful back to yr face, again and again, curling into myself in a sulky attempt at revival.

we chopped vegetables into a sweet and spicy magic stew, and watched those fireworks reflect in windows behind the back porch. it seems appropriate that they were hidden behind a building too tall, only visible in these tiny, paned reenactments. you say i'm feeling sympathy pangs but i wonder if it's something a bit more than that. i'm thirsty for new tunes, new hipbones, new streets wide enough and empty enough and smooth enough for my 2 AM journeys; i'm ready for there to be a destination other than home, ever. i heard those drumbeats and flung open the front door ecstatically to the street, only to find they were in the basement after all. does everything really only happen downstairs and inside and every day? whatever happened to my drunken pirate antics, my topless squadron and my endlessly rambling feet?

dammit.

(it's so hot i think my eardrums are melting inside me.)