An Ode to Miscommunication

An Ode to Miscommunication

I am intergalactic. A foreign techno beat.

We’ll hold our breath, seizing the air deep within our lungs.

Can you feel me?

My body is weightless to this infinite chanting

While this sand is settling, soaking into my ears.

Am I high off you?

Chase your cloudy grey with a starry evening,

Lay under different stars

And soak in this high with me.

Can you hear me?

Pump this, feel it in your bones.

These raindrops are desperately clinging to the world like the undead,

The world is screaming, smudging in grey and green.

Do you understand me?

Your words pull like plucked piano strings.

Is this good for me?

I’ve trespassed into your foreign territory.

Is your mind like a music box?

I’ve left it open on repeat.

I’m sipping, slurping

On the sweet nectar of your song.

Your words are alien, yet so familiar.

The choir of miscommunication has sung,

And the meaning is clear.

We’re gaping deep into the pregnant satchels of rain,

And we’ll clench our fists as the world sobs upon our faces.