I sit on the window sill, pressed against glass,
six stories above South Eutaw Street. Sunlight streams through widely drawn curtains and falls on your face, exposed between bedsheets. Your eyes blink twice beneath long lashed lids, you close your arms around me even when I'm not there. Forgotten lacy things and all of your clothes and remnants of candy colored condom wrappers litter the floor like drift wood and shells. I walk through the wreckage like one treads in ocean stripped to the skin, my flaws are unsheltered. I creep a bit closer and crouch beside the bed and touch the life force that moves in your neck, and all at once I'm flooded with how last night felt to be submerged with you, for the very first time twenty thousand leagues under a starlit city sky making waves of our own in a king sized bed as the ripples drifted slowly around us.
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A streetside open air shack
selling slices on the upper east side grease pools in pepperoni cups. I take a bite and pass it to him. He nibbles then puts it down on the plate and watches me like watching the sun blaze in the sky. He looks down. He picks up my hands like he always does a cartographer mapping their creases and cuts he tells me "I like them," as taxis roar past. His hair reflects neon like watercolor paints. Our eyes meet again and he grins like he's found music after a decade of silence. The city fades. Our lips touch. Peace. **They gave me pizza as a random poetry topic. This is what I came up with. |