I’m sick of train metaphors. The steam that smells like industry. White and greasy black. Machinery carting us off to romance we think we deserve.
Don’t even get me started on the sound: kuh clack kuh clack kuh clack.
Save it for the tunnel.
You want to talk about love. Fine, let’s talk about love.
Love wears a mustache and a black cape. Love carries us smiling to the tracks and ties us down.
Love sits in lawn chairs and lulls us to sleep with old records and old phonographs and stories about the war.
And we think it’s all a metaphor. And we pray that someone blew a bridge somewhere. And we wonder what that noise is.
Kuh clack kuh clack kuh clack.