Run For...

In the warm belly of a grand steel serpent we sailed 'round castles made of light and little else, structures so tall they ripped vertical tears in the night sky, aglow with purpose, before plunging deep into the subterranean veins of the sleeping earth. Intermittently a voice would sound, offering guidance, muffled by the roar of the great beast. In the flickering light of the serpentine innards, I caught glimpses of your body parts out of context, like fireflies flitting on and off through darkened leaves. In jars I placed these darting flashbulbs, attempting to examine each one: your lips, full of smirk; the button of your nose, rounded like a wooden bead on my corduroy jacket; the cut of your bangs, sharp and straight; the flow of your hair, like a quiet waterfall, strands flowing downward with assurance and power, pouring softly into a bit of a wave, lapping against the shore of your shoulder. I could tell by lookin' that you were born in the mountains, but I could never understand how I knew. Sitting on the train, across from this shapeshifter which robbed your visage, I miss you.

-Chicago