the fog gives way to golden; it’s all the same

Everything is smooth,

Smooth as a mountain drive through coastal fog
the redwoods surrounded by
slow-dancing ghosts
embalming to the point you can’t remember
where the sky should be

Smooth as the even breathing you sustain
even beneath the velvet weight upon your ribcage
whether it’s his
or just life
itself

Smooth as the perfect tattoo on his forearm
the black ink blended matte into
skin pulled taut and warm
musculoskeletal and
dully mysterious

Smooth as the condensation arriving like
electrically melodic
guitars
mist that drips clear dew onto the ferns reaching
from the side of the road

Smooth as his voice crooning on
how nothing is fixed
at all
but what a relief to be bittersweet
and aware

Smooth as the murmur of what endures after
how you can notice the broken glass in the corner and
still
drift
away

Smooth as sunlight dripping sheer
gold
through the window shade
sad transparent smiles bent into couch cushions
where you somehow fell asleep

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