Thinking everybody knew about us and would throw shade if I ran to you across the plaza - got one of those cloudy voices that doesn't carry no matter how loud I shout- I walked three meters behind you for a minute . . .
You looked into my eyes for a reflection
Of the shimmering jade-silk-sewage-baked-seawater-tile-indigo
City at the edge of the earth . . .
It will be a long time before the House at Delmas 24 forgets your crow-child screech
and the imprint of your slender bones fades from the recollection of the cane chair in the front room . . .
It's all been done and said and felt before; what's left for you?
Your whole life has been spent moralising, considering, telling yourself why your instincts are wrong.
You've taken open mindedness to its extreme, pushed up the sliding pane so far the AC doesn't even matter anymore . . .
because I left for forty seconds
she folded up her blanket and went outside
into the company of others . . .
Waves aren't all she makes —
Her smile unwrapping in the dark like secret tinfoil . . .
I could get used to the soft light and the red velvet parting
And the collection of my favorite things: books, colored cover, the idea of coffee.
Starting tomorrow I'll avoid doing the things at which I am mediocre . . .