A room walled-in by books where the hours withdraw. At the foot of an unmade bed a bird of paradise. Motel carpet melted where an iron had been. His attention anchored to a late night glory hole. Of janitorial carts no heaviness like theirs. Desire seen cavorting with the yes inside the no. A soul
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Intermittent wet under cloud cover, dry where you are. All day this rain without you—so many planes above the cloud line carrying strangers either closer or farther away from one another while you and I remain grounded. Are we moving anyway towards something finer than what the day might bring or is this an illusion, a stay against everything unforeseen—tiny bottles clinking as the carts make their way down the narrow aisle no matter what class we find ourselves seated in, your voice the captain's voice even if the masks do not inflate and there's no one here to help me put mine on first— my head cradled between your knees.