You scooped all the foam from the Pacific, frothedit into my favorite galaxy to soothe my throat.I was black palms against your pink sun–
you the thump-thump bass as I drownedin the bellow of our ballad, worn leathermouthing words from neon lights.
Skyline clumped beneath the white crescentsof your nails; sprinkled into smog like glitter,these two lungs exhaling ten intertwined fingers and
two murky spoonfuls of ramen– the creasesin your lips erasing condensation on my glass,copper flecks etched into our forearms.
Our final swig of fermented something,my irises vast and heavy, draped onto yours, andwith words cloaked in golden fog,
I realized that the only forces here are platesthat cross and quake– my teeth against your neckcouldn’t keep us spiraling down sun-drunk Malibu roads.
So we danced the floor away, floated atop the yarnspeople weave out of metal mountains and framed parchment,shades of day beyond our horizon–
Photo by Tim Foster on Unsplash