metanoia I

what’s it like to see your eyes under the Portland moon? are you still my little gift? are you still living that lie I caught from you? how intense, your shadow in the sunrise over vegas. i can dream, but i want even more deeply. it’s like another night at the ridge of the hotel room, eyes high in the skyline, mind down in the paper. desolation is the muse on my shoulders and you are the mystery between the flashing roofs and starless night.

wake up. travel on.

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