The sky is pink marvelous
so I imagine the heels on his
large, full feet that walk
the cavern walls in this mind of mine
(he is a love of spelunking
the girl he specs is me
from behind invisible frames,
invisible lenses in 'em)

I do wonder the lovely
on the otherend of the sky
where all my smoking collects as
clouds over the city tops and
building eyelids
(like brows that arch to mock him)

since, honestly, his denim plays
a harmonica to the blues before
my question marks that wait on blank pages
to make definitions of things
that go unseen by distance,
that go unheard by telephone's ring.

12/10/2006

Posted on 12/11/2006
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