We were never exactly pure animation.
Each time we touched,
Fidgeting in the off-kilter moonlight,
We took road trips ending
at dilapidated Disneylands,
Calling each other’s ex-lovers
some mornings before breakfast.
We watched spontaneous explosions
on Saturday morning cartoons,
Thinking long and hard
about the way flirtatious vampires
wear sunglasses in Victorian England,
joking that no one ever really goes home again.
It’s funny how a room with the lights out
Can remind us of permanent Halloween masks,
How we still get nostalgic about
the way blood drips from an I.V.
Alaskan summers have nothing on us.
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