there is an electricity of the city
that speaks to you in hushed tones
in the middle of private moments
where you skivvy around wondering
when your time will come;  
stop
waiting in the wings.

we run our dogged marathons
and sing our sacrilege out and loud, remorselessly—
fear not of who hears and who doesn’t—
we’re hungry for something to say.
i’ll etch my fingers into your flask
of liquid, warm courage
and we’ll feel right for a second or two,
as time undulates a little more kindly for us.

these nights we canonised
our foolishness wrought with
a stubborn feeling
and i told you we were invincible

our limbs tire and lungs respire
but our hearts and minds will always ache proudly with rage.
you and i were cut from the same cloth,
unremittingly.
for if the seams of our lives would eventually splinter
we’ll still live forever
through music and film and our love
don’t cry,
my baby blue.