we went to oregon last weekend.

we'll eat saltines and dream of the ocean. (we'll forget to send letters but stock up on stamps.)

somewhere between the high desert and the trees i wrapped my fingers into his belt while we buzzed a scooter around a strange sleepy town. the air was dry and it smelled like pine needles and bloody noses. later, in portland, we revisited all these different months of our different pasts, sipped coffee - good coffee - on a sidewalk in the sun, and left way too soon. i invent regrets. my secret treasure map leads to too many different places at once in paths of deep soft creases from my linty pockets.

but chicago has such a big rumbling heart, and the hot breath of the subway is bursting from the grates beneath our feet. the tomato plants are just coming to flower.