Subliminal Sublimation

I am still getting accustomed to your city's traffic 

I still do not call this city my own

It certainly has that pinkish humor you always talked about 

I miss you 

Life moves slow

There is a pool of rebellion 

I am still learning to swim in

I smoked under that underbridge, had tar removed from my man's lips 

I miss you 

I think of dangerous books and dangerous places 

I think of non-belonging among the din of war cry 

I let people touch my hands like I desired to touch yours 

I miss you 

There is always something better I could with my time 

I could love, make love, damn it 

I can walk deluded, talk incessantly in a box of cold glass 

I can carry myself on mountain tops and shout

I miss you 

"This world, my dear, is a theatre and sometimes, sometimes I feel exhausted of being their dolled up performing arts. This world, my dear, snatches more than it could give you. This world, this world, my dear, gloats on possession than it could ever do on freedom. I wish you were here to witness it with me, we'd have simply laughed it off."