relent

Wishes like thick, scratched chunks of glass.

Come home so I can write you a love song, or don't, so I can hammer out my goodbyes.

It's disillusionment each time, sour in the back of my throat, heavy on my spine. It's hope rising and cresting and falling, words escaping me unspoken. You are far away and I can't picture yr face and maybe you were nothing but a dream or an invention, nothing but the scent of milk and oranges assaulting my nostrils. In the end, we flounder. We flail and sink and the best of our intentions trip on their own soft ankles. My thighs are at rest. My toes clench unconsciously. The ground is pounding upwards at my heels.

I want to believe harder that these things we do are right and useful and I want to know that the sky is electric every single night.