Friday, July 27, 2012

A Detroit Export



I am obsessed with cities
In which you live.
You are everywhere.
And nowhere.
You are alone in the crowd
And I can't see you
until you let me.

We lay there.
There is no progression
Though everything has changed.

Your old ipod plays in the background.
We hear it.
Together.
I feel more from you, with the music playing.
I think and you draw a blank.
Your bed is perfection.

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