I love you like quick
decisions in waiting rooms.
Let's go dancing
somewhere in Brooklyn
and take pictures
as stupid proof.
ain't a soul stopping me.
But we can start elsewhere,
if ya want, if ya want me,
where heals hit coffee tables
and horns hear us first.
throw your vocals into a phone
and hear what magic happens.
this is my dream.
I crack my knuckles
against my head
and wait for your words
to tell me to sleep.
imagine where
eyelids meet home,
and capsized eulogy bullets.
she had a breeze-born
wildness about her.
I am a wet witness
of red horizons,
met with wide-open meadows
in a song of silent nature's
rhythm and rhymes.
tomorrow I will turn 21
up in the Franklin on 87th,
and the shock of it all will last.
She is a better writer than I.