an interview over dessert at the Lodge Room in Los Angeles

I order a Fernet Branca,
she orders a tape recorder,
LA from France.

In another life,
we were scorching lovers,
but in this one
just stranger than any fucking fictions.

It's tough to be fascinating.

After a meet-cute at hotel bar, 
on silent command,
they begin a casual flirting.

And so it begins: the waiting,
the watching for signs, one right touch.

A good young journalist,
she knows not to ask
the typical questions
about poetic inspiration, etc.

Tired, I think not caring
makes me appear interesting,
but I am just preoccupied.

When the band takes
the stage from behind us:
that's the dessert
with a broken lie.

I tell her she can
get to know me more,
for herself or her story,
just by watching me dance,
because I am not good at it,
but I love it.