"remember that my arms are not prison bars"
sing me another lullaby and i'll say anything you want, sweetheart, anything you ever wished you could hear with the notes drifting off the floor up into the middle of the night and through the leaves & trees & everything between; all the way across the universe to the stars and dark and moon shining so wistfully (she luminesces right onto your face and makes it so silver it looks better than any sunshine; i am tempted to tell you that you are the moon—such daylight might drown you right into the sky, up and gone into baby blue streaks of a final summer one o'clock as you cry "july july!") and i'm waiting for flaming-falling-free days piling into snow-drift foreshadowings on the street, air that smells like cinnamon and morning (not mourning) beginnings and start-up-start-off clouds of breath condensing in the cold— no longer aiming for something just like heaven, our information travels faster on mornings like this
(like this, like this, fingertip to fingertip and warmwarm skin…) i wonder with our heads so close together could we have dreamed the same dream, slipping straight through my head into yours; a spreading stain sleeping, seeping into reality so soon?
a/n: I don't usually write prose-poetry, but this is such a stream of consciousness-type piece. (If you didn't catch it, the underlined phrases are song titles, all of which belong to their respective bands and not to me.)