still the same
I got out of the house using a bonafide
lie about meeting my buddy at the
pinball arcade
hopped on my tenspeed and
pedaled the shortest route to prospect park
lying on our backs at the top of the hill
it felt as if we were vertical
suspended if you will
the river far below our feet
the clouds above
shaped like sails and almost touchable
all afternoon we held hands and
talked about how old we felt
trapped inside young bodies
unnerved by the fact this place in time
would always be the same
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
