Skatepark

There's a fire settling on my shoulder blades, cracking under the weight of the white sky.

And there hasn't been a city yet where we haven't met.

We're on this bloodless highway sprawling like tentacles of thoughts forming out your mouth

every word is a delicacy,

even here in the desert…

Where an ocean labored to fashion life out of its sand

eaten up by the sun upon the take of a first breath.

And I'm left trying to turn this heat into a single sun ray, tuck it deep inside my eye for later…

Holding onto petals of flowers I've murdered to press inside a book…

So later we can know this again like we did today.