to j-

You and me sit on a bunch of beer kegs on a rooftop, 

we are accompanied by the lights from the stars, gas station, and passing cars.

I begin to fade into you with every gleaming shine. 

They too soon begin to fade away and 

the lights from the stars, gas station, and passing cars guide us into a rhythm.

We are dancing to a silent melody.

A melody in us as the lights from the stars, gas station, and passing cars admire at, rather, more so, they praise at the magnetism before them

in such awe that through the cold, November night, 

we attract audience making way through the lids of our eyes. 

A shuttering, cryptic language is exchanged between our spectators and

is mirrored in pools of your honey eyes. 

And, yet I am bewildered to my bearings.

That the lights from the stars, gas station, and passing cars gleaming over this midwestern town,

stand still as if it’s still midnight and not 3:30 a.m.