To Some Future Lover III

We can wake up together
In Sunday's line of shade
Through the window,
Sinking slowly into morning
We'll make our day.

Thank God For Bad Habits

I can spend money
So quickly
On passing currents
And fresh cut herbs,
On burned wax
And wet ink
Or too many drinks,
Like the night
We talked at the bar,
And your eyes
Told me
You were beautiful.

White American Women

I fall infatuated
With plain white ghosts
And pale sketches
Of barely women,
Discarded skin
From the venomous creation.

They find space
In the front of
A crowded lecture hall,
Shutters closed
To sweat it out
And drain passion
From my pores
With the heat of regret.

I know nothing
Of those shapes I admire,
In perfection they
Draw and repel
As the nightmare
You hope to relive
And fear to retell.

Once tasting the fruit
Of that now
So foreign of places,
It will never
Ever taste the same
In this lifetime together.

To Some Future Lover II

I'd like to take a walk,
And speak softly
As the air moves
Our voices through
The streets
Laid before us.

The warm orange glow
Will drip from the
Windows and lay out
Patterns for our feet
To define.

We'll pass the same places
And rarely change design,
Knowing intimately strangers
That tend to their lawns
With a low and gentle nod.

I'll move my feet,
Set my pace,
Same as yours
Same as ours,

Wanting the color
To stay awhile longer.

We Asked For This

But when she wakes up
The pain is still there
Because you've been up for
Hours blending smoke
And morning fog,
Watching winter
Pass by like fall.
The cup of kosher coffee
She left by the lamp is
Half full,
Lukewarm,
And not sweet enough
For the way she likes it.

In some places people
Only long for what's next,
Like hot wet wind,
Or dry stiff air.

This Sunday Morning

I feel warm
And well rested,

Though I didn't sleep much
With the steady
Gentle pulse,

Beating dreams
In the race to
My fingertips.