maybe it was hoboken

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