We should leave this weekend behind
and estivate concrete highways
for gold-dusted independence.
Let’s forget license plates—
escape to another state;
ride unprotected lanes.
We could bring along some friends,
and leave by dawn’s edge,
so nobody will catch our glinting auras.
And when we’d reach mountain prominence,
we’d all raise our hands up to sky sundress blue
through your car’s telescopic sunroof.
My camera could even snap whirlpools of pictures—
a thousand pixelated words.
But no picture could compare
to any past life we ever lived.
At night, you and I
could lie under riant starlight,
while our inferior sides impale fire;
sparks transfix us in a sun daze.
Alaska would melt away from our
dreamy Miami eyes
we erase our silhouettes
at daybreak’s incalescence.