What did you say? We have been walking for hours
beneath downtown lights
pockets empty
a second night in a row and I should
have your name by now. I don't.
Was it good for you? My head is still
while the orange and florescent office whites
lighting office blocks
slide by, head craned, thoughts hung
dead behind my glass eyes,
tongue lolled and thick in my mouth.
What did you say? I know
I should know, but the sky is so close,
starless, I can smell the ocean
up there threatening to come down and
I would be afraid of getting wet
if I wasn't already still.
Was it good for you? Your arm around my shoulders
feels brand new and if I wasn't so encased
in this damn cotton tee I could
fall into you all over again the way
sail fish do when the waves are high and
chopping.
Somewhere up there
radio towers are blinking
warnings to the street's rise and fall,
buoys along our shipping lane. Do you want to spend
the night? My body twitches at the end of it's rope.
There is laughter coming
out from where your mouth ends and
my ear lobe begins. Can you taste it, I think it's going to rain.
The glass in my head blows apart
connected in an instant to every tube and bulb
overhead and rains starshine on the concrete
and I am thirsty as hell
all over again. Cracked and spilling.
We have been walking for hours and
the sky is fallen.
Come with me, I know a place
where we can swim.
