But Now You Know

Don’t throw out your winter clothes,
the way our glances froze it just might snow
ten thousand days or more,
enough to cover or quench our hopes
and tandem bicycles in ten-inch icicles
and glacier footprints in a single row,
leaving little hope left that you
won’t fall for anywhere else than here.
I know it seems like the better idea
when all our sentiments are seemingly few and far between.
Pasadena river in the morning, you look all the best to me.
Ten years on and counting you’ve got mad skills
and a weird ambiguity.
So what do you know about air lithium batteries,
anodes and oxide to power our flashlights
when our sentiments are seemingly few and far between
Let’s hold hands and go for a city
Let’s hold hands and go for a citywide search for our loss.
Let’s hold hands and go for a city.
Don’t go chasing curtain calls,
settle for applause from heavy rain
upon the bothered glass of bedroom windows as you drift away,
breathing uneasily, mumbling warily: Don’t go.
And I wake you up although I never tell you so,
but now you know.