scratch the windows
of the shuttle bus,
I am tired and I don't
want to be here.
hopefully James comes through
with the yak.
when you pass me
in the hollowed Hyatt hallway,
I will know I am fucking
up everything.
but I guess I got what I wanted:
lonesomeness and longing.
even a slide guitar
soundtrack can't make
this southern winter romantic,
despite the sticks falling.
let me show you
my audacity.
bring me back
to Harlem in 2009,
and give me time
to shine like wet vines.
I want to travel
back and feel different.
but we can also travel
forward and feel forever,
before it even exists,
and just kiss and forget.