Mere hours ago walking, cold and alone, from the library I took flight. I flew over brittle winter canopies, in between gonging church bells, and finally onto the roof of my circa 1830's apartment. I put my heart and soul into a snow angel. It was perfect, and the cold couldn't touch me. I wasn't worried about where I'd get my next fix or high from. I hopped up in elation and yelled FUCK. My lungs were warmed by the next ten minutes that hadn't played out. We spoke of all that mattered love, heartache, art, sex and highbrow tom foolery. I felt like hopping into the future and winking back at the past.
tonight you're on my mind so, so. So, you never know.
by the way world,
I have the best damn best friend in the entire solar system.
How's that for poetic?