between the lamps
and the silver maple
is ownership
of the street
and the night
and anything worth
owning at 2am
on a saturday
travelled lifetimes
over five city blocks
weaving three deep
three speed
flashing lights
no brake lights
or destination
grown but no rush
art in just being
and even her name is beautiful…
reminiscent of my favourite vinyl
the way i insist it
on my consciousness
it reads like the feeling left behind
by a poem i lauded
but couldn’t fully remember
save for a phrase or two
speakeasy,
a tonic when speech
with her isnt easy
the sun and clouds
play tug of war
with this hue of yellow
across these walls and cubicles
its toxic in my inability to relate to it
to stand and look
is basically to depart from here
cube life leaves one muted
no matter how loud your ringer volume is
she is the dj
who plays just enough of a song
you forgot you loved
to make you run out
and remember how you felt on that first listen
and then does it again
and again
until you finally wonder
why and when
you forgot how to love
at all
for guiding me
down back streets
during dark times
for kicking it
on canal street and
parisian canals
you scored eight million
stories so i could
escape mine
no heart, but home had peace
found space and place
to fade away
found solace in absence
and peace in yours
thanks
watching nag champa burn
is like watching you
enter
like smoke
you sway and saunter
style and smile
light up the room
like glowing embers
held conversation with
your fragrance, deep
chest puffed
i’ll never pass
on your essence
lets inhale and avoid details
even in absence
your scent
lingers
i want to know
what your first word
would have been
the curve in your smile
the hang in your frown
would you know love
even though your parents didnt
would you steal hearts
like we stole moments
your moments
don’t cry babygirl
if you knew what i know
the boulevard presents sunnyside
we hug the lake
like we hold waistlines
and hug 125
beats per minute
the boardwalk and the breeze
speak to us
nights like this
should never end
but we’ll sleep
after i see
the sunnyside
of your face
and greet daylight
with a smile
as we hum
basslines home
16 year old me
would’ve written
sonnets
everytime
you captured and
subsequently
broke
my heart
at 22
peace treaties between us
would’ve declared
how much you care
how much I don’t
and how wrong
we both were
now, age 30
we’re most beautiful
at our most brutal
alone together
macchiato on my conscious
between the french press
green summer dress
a need to impress
and being pressed for time
her leatherbound stopped
my westbound departure
storylines sketched out
a film noir
that i’m audience
and now leading man of
breakthrough role
falling victim to her
devices
character and plot
