there is no point in asking.
i had a dream:
it was of a fight, a bus ride, a wrong route and you.
you were too drunk to remember my face.
even then, i marched in with my head down.
i sat close to the rails,
in
the comfort of the gritty metal rear of the bus
and observed your rising, falling clothed back.
you never turned around;
i looked out of the window,
heaving with arcane trepidation,
and everything was all so wrong.
i woke up covered in a strange fear.
it was of a fight, a bus ride, a wrong route and you.
you were too drunk to remember my face.
even then, i marched in with my head down.
i sat close to the rails,
in
the comfort of the gritty metal rear of the bus
and observed your rising, falling clothed back.
you never turned around;
i looked out of the window,
heaving with arcane trepidation,
and everything was all so wrong.
i woke up covered in a strange fear.
