Cherubs wrestle animals to death
and shoot arcing arrows across the sky
it’s a love poem
about love
aww
every car parked on the street
has an owner
and that owner walks around the same city streets
looking for the same answers
standing on rained out rooftops
cherishing the brief respite from the grind
another person
whose fingers intertwine with their own
so perfectly
they must’ve been conjoined twins
separated at birth by chance
I could ramble on about the look of innocence
in a child’s eyes, but spare me the gushy stuff
it’s more about the chase than the checkered flag
and we’re all in the race
and there’s no such thing as last place
just those who take it at their own pace
so enjoy it
you’ll be dead within seventy-five years