Toes In a Vain Sky

We could always fuck.
We could always dip our toes in a vain sky

and make love of paper and graphite, and the moment
could always be the womb.

We could always dance.
We could always tempt the flowers growing from the walls

and watch the fits of brave men
roar through the excitement of red and smoke and black dust

the same moment we find God.
We could always sleep, but sleep is for the weak

and the early bird wants us to know
it exists.

We could always sing.
We could always lose our keys somewhere beyond the edge

of 4 AM tungsten,
something like touching the bottom of the bottle with our feet.

We could always fuck.
We could always close our eyes to a rising sun.

~ryas

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