Grasping at the wind on the highway
Memories are gleaned
With a hand out the window
I am moved by their fluttering wings
Lightly brushing splayed fingers
Pathos dusting the skin,
Bubbling with effervescent nostalgia
The world roars, so I turn up the dial
Loving the songs for having lived the songs
Anthems of making habits out of reverie
And gospel for the bathroom stalls
Oh what beds I have lain in
Curled up with forgotten lovers
Falling in love
With all the right girls
At all the wrong times
No time to think of tomorrow
Hands bound up by
The fuzzy handcuffs of the moment
Desperate and true,
Thinking only of you
"You" being the hot thing at the time
This was passion!
This was seizing the day
Then we'd hit the bars like Chicxulub
Cares left behind on the sidewalk
Like a bundle of texts after school
When I stumbled home
If I made it alone
I'd count white popcorn on the ceiling
With ringing ears whining to sleep,
Wondering what more there could be.
With my hand out the window,
Sometimes I can hold her hand
This younger version of me
And sometimes I hear her ask
Her voice as delicate as glass
"Did we make it?"
And I offer her a smile.
Memories are gleaned
With a hand out the window
I am moved by their fluttering wings
Lightly brushing splayed fingers
Pathos dusting the skin,
Bubbling with effervescent nostalgia
The world roars, so I turn up the dial
Loving the songs for having lived the songs
Anthems of making habits out of reverie
And gospel for the bathroom stalls
Oh what beds I have lain in
Curled up with forgotten lovers
Falling in love
With all the right girls
At all the wrong times
No time to think of tomorrow
Hands bound up by
The fuzzy handcuffs of the moment
Desperate and true,
Thinking only of you
"You" being the hot thing at the time
This was passion!
This was seizing the day
Then we'd hit the bars like Chicxulub
Cares left behind on the sidewalk
Like a bundle of texts after school
When I stumbled home
If I made it alone
I'd count white popcorn on the ceiling
With ringing ears whining to sleep,
Wondering what more there could be.
With my hand out the window,
Sometimes I can hold her hand
This younger version of me
And sometimes I hear her ask
Her voice as delicate as glass
"Did we make it?"
And I offer her a smile.
Last edited:
