heavy eyelids,
slurring my words,
lying on the concrete at 5 AM.
lying to my loved ones about
where I've been.
squealing tires take corners too fast,
mixing with aimless sleep-talk,
and the chatter of a police radio
somewhere far.
but nearby.
hands paint my thighs
through emptied pockets,
warm breath on my ears,
a steady rocking motion,
already forgotten.
didn't we put someone on the moon
thirty years ago?
or was it the sun?
tell me I'm okay.