I sink into your sigh
like you sink into the couch
after emerging from your
sleep chambers. Marinara
sauce wafts the air while
the frat ghost hides in the sounds
of ferret wheels racing.
Battling tunes from different
handhelds spark conversations
lost in time flown over from
summer to now, for Now is
as good a time as any
as many times were but
inevitably saved for the
morning after—this one
in particular. Heads and
hearts lean together again
and distance tears them
away; for how long, none
can say. Before the year’s over—HA!
Sadly, I’ll wait til the last day.