The Pale

poetry

So maybe dreams are anytime
and when you laugh at my dumb jokes
I am flying through the countryside
and your fingers on my chest
are a hundred thousand saxophones
and you let me wear your magic glasses
so I can see infinity in your eyes
and my heart won’t stop dancing
as my used Toyota’s engine dies
and we smile and don’t go inside
until it even gets too cold
for people who were born in the snow

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