i ask for it black,
just cool enough to sip
from a red tin cup
beneath a late afternoon sundown.
when i hand she the world,
she asks for it stirred
with sugar and soy milk
over ice cubes,
beside me and that same sundown.
-----
chasing after places to see and be;
so, she made me swear we’d spend our days
making the places we already were
something worth seeing and being;
(and someday,
the adventurers
searching for the seven wonders of my 26th summer,
will find their guidebooks dead-ending
beneath the hummingbirds of the los angeles river,
at the private delray beaches belonging to the owners of half-built condominiums,
along the 2 am side-streets of southern boulevard,
beside the courtyard of a north palm beach panera bread,
on the benches of a cafe and used bookstore in jacksonville,
under the canopy of a brewery within the industrial district of suburbia orlando,
in a hammock).
how you'll ever cross
from the failure you find yourself today
to the person you've always hoped you might become;
where the skies
exchange there faded grays
for the brightness you remember on those nights you used you dream;
she enters,
like a bridge you never knew was constructible
like electric light,
like flight,
like impossible unfolding before your eyes,
with body, hands,
and a face like the winter constellations,
and in an instant,
the world is at your fingertips,
like a story that wouldn’t let you blink even if you tried;
like paper airplanes
and the speechless on your tongue,
like the brightness in her lips,
as they form i love you
at last;
my world,
is where she is,
those sunsets -
really are the most colorful;
those drives
really are worth the miles;
those moons, those
cups of coffee,
really are full,
with the kinda full worth drinking fully;
and i am hers to the dregs.
-----
it'd be five fragile fingers
and her head on my shoulder,
north los angeles
sundown.
No comments:
Post a Comment