CXXIII.

A not so steady rhythm of my hands against steel sounds as I try to keep pace with amplified percussion blasting through my speakers while I lay beneath a starving sea of a sky and watch lightning break across the embracing canvas. The clouds framed just above the streetlights and the cable lines, a fingertip away from touching my outstretched hands. My back on the hood of this dull silver car and I can feel the warmth of the engine and the bass from inside as I throw my head back to catch a fleeting glimpse of a tail light descending westward. These stars and the thought of your eyes have become my only solace. But in this moment, in moments like these I imagine that I am free.