I want a vacation where the mind doesnt stray from the starry stratosphere of motel ceilings to remember it's become a whale dipping in & out of itself. I want to bounce on the bed from the first kiss to the last hurrah, to collapse without pit stops back into the body without backing into memory. I want my mouth not to watch my tongue, my tongue my words, my words my brain, the rage that was relevant only yesterday which now makes me say I'm glad I've lost it. I want to dream of youth's cocky impieties, the inexact ways to your love's certainty, not this vision of oranges under the bed, the world waiting to see if I get to eat them free.