what does it all scream?
what does it all dream?
why does it all intervene?
from a tattoo shop on Orange Ave
to a hotel room off Lake Eola,
we internalize love like leftover ramen
forgotten in a mini fridge.
awoken to sexy midnights,
boombox nudity, only
a Stetson, and wino shoes
the color of olives.
everything else is hair and dare,
closed-eye showers, always water,
even rejected in parking lots
from previous lives an hour prior.
either Hashem exists
or we live in the Matrix,
either way it is real
behind us and before death.
love is the only lesson,
and water is the only way
to see if we believe
in what it all dreams.