You’re both pirate seekers on a drifting piece of wood fashioned into a canoe with machine men surrounding you in an artificial waterworld.
The south’s heat drawls in on the expensive restaurant lining the ridges of the walkway.
Birds chirp, cannons blare, a sparrow dressed like that undying rockstar sings about having the silver.
The honey jacks running slim as the canoe careens downwards into a spiral jetty the source of which in this swirl and whirl are actually those heart of the ocean blue specter eyes of hers.
The canoe passes a marooned animatronic man resembling your features.
Bearded and crazed he bellows about this island he calls in his name with his fortress crafted in bricks of moss.
He speaks with pride of his unsustainable mass but lowers his voice to a hush regarding a wave in the shape of a woman that nicked the northern end of the wall.
And how he wished it would’ve taken it all down.
The ride halts in a tar pit and the Reality Center points its cameras every which way making crude announcements that you both assume are meant for you.
Suddenly, you are locked backwards in that home housing 1,000 horrors .
An unending pile of laundry is stacked in your doorway.
Yesterday’s futures rub their sandpaper grips on your neck.
All the fears run emptily through the vacant kitchen.
Voices, promises and words hastily rushed to print from previous published editions are present.
In a time-lapse that all fades, some of it gently and swiftly, other bits with more effort.
But not this.
Never that day or any day that contains too much ice cream and chicken tenders, being splashed on mountains together, chasing sunsets, and being carried in the saving unending embers of those fireworks.
Never, ever let that fade