Futon Dreams

by chai

our pulse is set
to the bass-line
on repeat
in each if our minds
our temples pound
louder
as the sound
falls
into the caverns of the brain

with the energy
to write everything down,
we've been dancing;
afloat on the third,
redundant, regurgitation
of revolving stone
and soil.

all the while,
every door handle
smiles at night
every high way laughs
and every wool blanket
locks a bedroom door