Static Bloom
we moved like neon
humming low beneath
a synthwave skyline
your breath slows
curving down my neck
a chorus we only remember
air static-filled
that VHS grain
flickering between
want and rewind
until that bloom
in our analog touch
we unspooled
like silver tape
in that geometry
of our shapes
we were infinite
intangible
open-mouthed
glistening
and no matter
how many times
it plays out
we land the same
One thought on "Static Bloom"
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The infinite shapes always playing out the same carries such a forlorn weight to it. I find myself in a place of wishing, like the narrator seems to be.