A dark room is the best oasis
from pounding bodies and too much bass,
so we lay on your bedroom floor
gazing up at 99cent cosmic stick-ons,
misshapen galaxies illuminating the ceiling
we’re looking for heaven you explain—
Until your phone lights up,
LED screen erasing constellations
and John bursts through the door
hollering about a lost bong.
You push off the floor—
Heaven is closed for the night.