born out of the nepalese enchantment that she wondered about in the springtime of her father’s latest fantasy, she didn’t know about the ovals on the dollar bill or the all-seeing eye of God. when she held the breath she’d been saving up all year, it pulled at the strings of her blackened lungs and made the stars in her zodiac wave at the coming sun. her notes were unreal, so ephemerally enigmatic and holistically carnivorous, so when she sang on the first day of the latest year, rocks rocked with her and the clouds harmonized in her eyes.
he watched her as she mechanically combined her absinthe and coke. when he asked her what she was drinking she said, “uh….absinthe and coke.”
he didn’t know if she meant soda pop or powdered rock.
the night hadn’t fallen into the sullen listless dawn that it would eventually become, so the crowd retained hope as the ball dropped-droppe-dropp-drop-dro-
he held her hand like it was a life boat and he was the titanic and she could keep him afloat for a little while longer
she held his hand like he was a harp and she was an angel and if his melodious tunes stopped flowing she wouldn’t ever be able to fly
when they found themselves at home again, his sticky chest pressed, nested against her breast, they breathed and found breaths falling in and out of each others’ mouths, and she thanked him for singing and he thanked her for floating and then they fell into sleep like the children they were
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