Dry talking habits.

It's an art form - contrition.
We went slow dancing in the dark once:
a soldier, a poet, a king.
Did you care?
Everything stayed.
When did it get so normal?
My lines feel it all around -
Darling! Destroy it!
I wrote twenty-one letters,
got in my car,
and that ghost - DAMN that valley -
that ghost of the adults talking,
left me star roving
from Texas to Brooklyn Bridge,
searching for any family values
written in the constellations with
our spiritual love.