we’re both heading home


eyes closed to
the mad world
animals move
and something
there is beautiful
crazy hell
imperfect real

freedom is seeing
ghosts and shadows
in the sky
foreign love
locked us in
a room where
we confess
our secrets

we feel
the leather
seats of the car
close to each
other and we
feel the heartbeats
of our souls

we drive until
we know that
we’re heading
nowhere but home




About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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