You said something about smiling.

Then something about closing my eyes,
and trying to stay alive just long enough
to feel your breath drawing out the black ink
that at least tries to run as well as the blood used to.

Then something about how adorable I am
when my hands react before anything else does
to the sirens that have no time for the likes of me.

Then something about how we could build
a holy tradition out of how often we wound up
doing this with each other on a long road early Tuesday morning.

And I forget the rest.
And I don’t know if I’m doing that on purpose.
And I don’t trust a single thing that’s clear to me.

I certainly don’t trust a single face
that’s part of a body tucked into a warm jacket.

Let’s see if I’m going to trust you this week.
We can hold hands even when the escalator stops working
halfway down. You can pretend I see the trains
that are snow globes looking for the sky in the dumbest way possible.
You can imagine I know which trains are burning alive from the inside.

I can imagine a little magic is going split our heads wide open.

This is what it feels like to be newlyweds with bad memories,
and pocketfuls of bad medicine to fix that for ten minutes of every hour.

It’s what you get for trusting music
that broke all your fingers the first time you heard it.
Never mind the awful things we did the first time we danced to it.

And you’re a fine one to talk about who needs who.

I don’t see anyone else around you
going out of their way to ruin their health for you
on their own time.

I don’t see anyone else around you at all.

And I know that’s not because you’re pushing 28,
and have these eyes that not even a warm summer day
at a burger place in 1955 Los Angeles could fix.

And I know it’s not because no one else exists
under this palace of rainy streets.

04/06/2013

Posted on 04/07/2013
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