call me when your flight lands in Munich and we can discuss how the cinder blocks standing stationary in the walls like cold queen's guards meet so seamlessly they touch so cleanly never a crack, never a pore
call me when your flight lands in Tampa and we can talk about all of the clothes on the floor folding and crinkling discontinuing continuum they haven't been touched since July and when you call, we can talk about how they make my room smell like gasoline
let me know when you land safely in Munich and I'd be happy to go on about the smell of the parking garage equal parts old rain and new exhaust pipes and the open air underneath the moon; so close that I will grab it out of the closet sky and give it to you instead of saying: I'm so ******* sorry
let me know when you land safely in Tampa and we can assume the position of conductors of a grand orchestra of lost crickets and cracking bones of the dogs barking at spilled black ink and chasing the painted Sun and maybe when the song is over, we will clean up the mess and be able to fall in love with nothingness