and they throw the matches down into the glitter

i think we’re lost now, dear, too far gone now, dear,
so we’ll eat our strait-laces and hit the road, like
we’re stealing our lives back, like we’re saving them
in each other. it’s not a robbery, it’s a bona-Clyde
rescue mission. we’ll tie up the yellow dashed line
like a ribbon. we’ll present it to whoever comes
after us, double-knot it so anyone following falls
straight off and hits their head. it’s cartoon physics,
love, we never look down when we run, so our
footprints vanish into clouds. we’ll go out like sea foam
at sunset, legends fading like our con trail behind us.