I was wandering
through the garden
back behind
your rocket shed
the stars were blinkin out in protest of
the reflection in my lenses,
a message
left and anticipated
with bated breath, my fingers tore
open the letter that was waiting there,
waiting on a change
but nothing will
and no one's ever
lived to tell
the tale.
these, the night thoughts
are no haven
from uncertain
paths, a proclivity
to stare out past the rooftops
and think of all the people
i'd rather be
to watch the film unfold
from under your comforter
to see the stills of the thing
like they were so complex
so simple, and yet connects
falls away,
like they were never
there to stay
and we
don't have to say
those things we really feel
only get in the way
The goalie
never stood a chance
it slipped right through his hands
and you were slipping too.