with her navy blue nails
along to a Broken Social Scene
song on the outdated juke.
Hours ago, she blew me
in the bathroom of a bookstore,
as if it were any other
night in Brooklyn.
Ten years prior,
I would've pulled an irish exit,
but now I have too much respect
for the wicked.
I make the same mistakes,
but don't have the excuse of booze,
so I just fall in love for the night,
and write her a poem in the morning.