We off roaded until we couldn't see a single thing
except fields and fields and fields and fields.
The sky here is so painfully empty and colourless -
We are the Europe of American art student fantasy.
We'd packed putty inside the seats,
coated everything in gasoline
and were told the remote would work from several miles away
(as if we wouldn't want to witness this).
So we open the doors (it sounds like a gun being loaded,
I'd preffer something less pertinent)
And take a few steps back, then a few more.
The cold, cold spring air grips our skin
and instructs us to hug each other.
So we do.
You ask (with your eyes) if this is really going to work and by way of reply
I hit the litte red cliche.
The roof blows open
and suddenly the sky is flooded
(just for a second)
and we are so so warm,
if we'd had our eyes closed
we would almost believe we were home
(as if we wouldn't want to witness it).
You turn to me as if to say:
"This is the most beautiful thing any man has ever done for me"
Except what you actually say is:
"How are we going to get home?"
[End. You're on your own with this one. I think it's my favourite of these so far but don't let that colour your judgement. Written whilst listening to: Girl Talk.]
3 hours ago