id like to watch this heat lightning from a rooftop, that is so like all of us, it gets hot and then it cracks.
id like to feel the ease and sinking and cool, serene and swish of blueish strands of grassy, dirty ground and not wear shoes, not wear society anymore and not have to say a thing
id like to take you the stream; to curl up in those cold, hard cylinders; those underground tunnels underwhich the crisp river and scampering water insects, bug-eyed (extend gangly limbs), fly by. where no one from the road sees, except the mosquitoes
id like to sing with horrible, honest voices and boyish laughter and snarky history jokes
id like to not shatter, but float
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