A Month-Old Sentence

We hit it off, I am saying things I don’t say, not psychopathic or dirty things but rather, honest things, strange and vulnerable things and we are sharing drinks that are spilling out from being overpoured, but we are liking them, and the people around us lose dimension and we’re walking paces in a crowded den of paintings of people in cement shoes and we laugh like liberty and explain ourselves and expend ourselves and pinch at ourselves and it feels like we’re in a known place, a living room with the full carpet and pictures on the walls and we’re looking at them and there is fire in the hearth and the doors are locked and there is a highrise window to what appears as absolutely nothing and we’re necking because there is no other reason to wait any longer, possibly because we’re aided by weakening tendons and possibly because we’re aided by Dionysus, but that’s not really us either, the type to do things like this at bars, but there is some reprieve we are being given, sonic flights of tinny angels who like secondary friends arrive only every few years and remind you that absolutely nothing new has really come to pass, nothing at all has really changed.