Someone you can be with
Someone you can touch
Someone you can talk to
Someone you don’t feel so strange around
And you find that they don’t really exist
You feel closer to people on movie screens"
sunday mornings can be beautiful, but it’s beautiful like a fresh soft flower or a laughing child in play, not the shaking grizzled hands of a matriarch or the weathered bark of a great, ancient tree
if hours were cigarettes, sunday morning is the one you have when you’ve just woke up, stiff muscles, eyes crusted and mouth dry, lazy smiles at the thought of dalliances and amusement to come
and tuesday 2am is when you tarry in the midst of ceaseless labour, the anxious smoke you steal in the break you’re not supposed to have, when time permits you neither to sit down nor to wipe the sweat from your brow
and you look at the stars and you shudder in the cold and you look at your hands and you look at your brothers and you don’t even know what to think but dear god in this moment you are alive
alivedear god


