I think
when the sun comes out
when our faces get laminated along with whether or not we'd like our living heart in a useless, smashed up, messed around body given away to someone who can make it beat life,
I think we will get in a car
and disappear for a week.
We should go to a beach, put the seats down in the back and sleep there,
and I'll pack us a bunch of food,
and I won't need to wear anything but my bikini
and sunglasses,
and I'll let your soaked up skin mingle with mine under the dead stars.
It will be the most perfect thing.
I will be nervous and scared but your arms will reassure me that this is okay
because in moments like these,
nothing can go wrong.

I will be so alive
and I won't ever want to wash the salt out of my hair.