There's a rumour going around that
we're okay now
and I've neither confirmed nor denied
because

That black glass dome is still glued to
my pupils and I still see through those
flimsily painted apertures in my irises


I could see the songs as they
floated out of the radio vents,
Musical notes skimming the
sinews of air until they entered
and hung suspended from my
ear drums

Endlessly cycling around my
head, recycled again and
again

You drove and we circled the
block around my house and you didn't
complain because you knew what
I would find there

I was waiting (hoping) for the
tones to skid to a stop, deviate
from course and crash through
my eyes, breaking glass and
heading heavenward
So that I could see a sheet of
star white

Brighter than anything, but somehow
not hurting my eyes

And then

Between songs, you told me
"We accept the love we think we deserve."

And I wasn't sure whether I had
reached infinity or if I was
finally numb