I parked the moon in a limousine shadow,
tied one shoe with a golden lasso.
The puppet’s grin was carved in stone—
or maybe clay, or maybe bone.
Feather static in the drought of June,
whispers caught in a red balloon.
I saw you in the one-way sky,
counting tears with your blistered eye.
[chorus]
This flesh never breaks,
Even when the mirror aches.
I pull the rope, you mouth the cue—
The mime is me, the gesture's you.
We practiced silence on a cardboard stage,
blew kisses through the traffic cage.
You read my name from a napkin slip—
I kissed it shut with a soda drip.
There’s music scrawled in static dust,
a piano bleeding radio rust.
We played until the wire snapped—
then sat politely, unstrapped, unmapped.
[chorus]
This flesh never breaks,
Even when the mirror aches.
I pull the rope, you mouth the cue—
The mime is me, the gesture's you.
