originally from mafia-run Providence,
but she washed ashore in Red Hook
just a few weeks ago
and fell into my arms tonight in Willytowne.
covered in caramel-colored
anti-Instagram filters, she froze me
on a frigid evening at The Levy,
where I was just getting back
into the swing of things,
hanging with my pseudo-gangster friends,
before she walked in the door
while Debbie Harry sang about Dreamin'.
anyone who denies the energy of eyes
has never experienced a moment like this;
she stepped inside, shedding scarf, looked at me for a split moment,
and just came over to me, kissing me
like an artist making a masterpiece in my mouth
and I assumed I was hers forever.
we went to any roof and made love,
our genitalia freezing for good sexy ill,
but both motors still worked and purred,
and even though I had been in a situation similar,
this one held more resonance,
because there was nothing to overcome.
afterward, we went back to a different, quiet
bar to get to know each other.
she spoke of Italian food and forgiving people;
we laughed about bad movies that we both hated to love;
much kissing and hands and never-ending nothing.
then we rode the Rumbler back to Manhattan,
and she got off at Essex to go break up with someone,
where as I went all the way up to Harlem to dream,
and that's how you write mother fucking poetry!