sangria, french fries, nightly waffle and syrup.
nocturnal, alive, bustling at 4 a.m.,
empty apartment, in the dark,
in love with your soul;
we are apart and together,
I taste your love, like God–
from the wind.
someone died in the ocean today
from lightning,
and people fought in the street,
bloody cement and videocameras.
you are cold as your sister yells,
swimming through the snowy Andes,
drinking loose sky diamond stars,
and we are alone
in our fears and our sleep.
but I love you–
Through the Rye 