Windshield Fog

I glimpsed your figure passing red,
While fitful sweat turned into sleep.
The book between us left unread.

Your laughter fades and the things you said,
Like windshield fog or a Gothic relief,
I glimpsed your figure passing red.

You told me your old skin you’d shed,
To build new turrets from your grief.
The book between us left unread.

A city outlined intones the dead,
Their voices drown a jackhammer’s weep.
I glimpsed your figure passing red.

Through wellsprings of plastics a slalom I tread,
Old women stare the cerulean deep.
The book between us left unread.

And all your dreams carve up my head,
But I like my mornings to oversleep:
I glimpsed your figure passing red.
The book between us left unread.

[This is also a song that I'll upload when I can.]