still awake
floating near the ceiling
in sheets of spun honey
wearing a cat on a hot tin slip
can’t help but consider
two yesterdays
a lifetime ago
in the town painted above the bed
vincent spun
those burning stars
and blue
rooftops
for you to see them
reflected in my
bourbon eyes drinking in
the early morning sunlight
vinyl spinning victrola worlds
you have known my brunette
countless times
yet
never knew me
until the
evening you followed me
into a used record store
and smiled at me
from the punk rhythm and blues aisle
musical voyeur
then
were brazen enough
to silently motion me to
accompany you
into the bookstore across the street
i willingly come knowing
of course i did
your fedora orbits me
unwritten poems
drum line
beats down
stolen glances
between stacks
you pretend to read
ray carver
as you look at my heels
and the way i look in levi’s and a blazer
knowing i would look better
wearing nothing
but
you
forever
i
agree
One reply on “maybe it was hoboken”
Lovely write, this one. : )