no, everything's not alright, but I guess
if you want electricity,
you need a little more than just the
expectation of electricity, more than
essential oils or enigma or ethereal machinations. you need
the opposite of extravagance.
something more like
electron energy, a certain
emperical elegance, engagement, and underneath it all, some atom of
effortlessness, an elemental ember, that says
of course, who wants to enter here?
not now, in the middle of
egregious argument, in the middle of another
and earfuls of consonants. not me.
pick anyone else.
i want a cup of Earl Grey. my own exit sign.
my own private island Eden. escape.
and yet, this is the escape we choose:
early to bed, you eastward and I west,
eerie silence, then dreaming
what feels like less than efficient sleep
except, by morning, through some
magic touch of Eos,
something between us eases, then ebbs,
an ellipses of time, eight whole hours
spun, as if by elves,
and waking into an eloquent sun, we take one
emboldened step forward, wrap arms around
each other and
get back to our earth again.