Fogbeat On Route

You text in fragments,

forty seconds of sound

Holding onto the handrail,

looking at the ground

Pretending it's casual,

but your fingers are white

On the night bus rolling

through the fog-heavy night

And it's motorcycle quiet when the engine finally dies

Helmet off at the overlook under heavy grey skies

On a night bus with fogged-up windows We watch the streetlamps blur

and fade

No flags to wave,

no grand displays Just the quiet of the choices made

Your voice notes echo in my cold right ear

Half-truths

and background noise is all I can hear You're holding the rail

like a lifeline to slide

While the condensation runs

down the inside

Emotion

first!

(raaargh) Helmet off at the overlook...