wrapped in ivy sheets
and the silence offered by
quarter til five in the morning
i hear you rise from a bed
on the other side of the city
you’re barefoot
tighty whitey clad
staring at a phone and a computer
looking for me
both of us too stubborn to relent
jesus we’re irish
with our nun chucks
hating how much we love each other
with guilded age enthusiasm
we attended the world’s fair together
in 1893
forget my indian girl hair
falling over your face
and
i’ll forget the way
you sang to me