Saturday, October 31, 2009

in the same bed
two of the same, two generations above
where i was standing,
i told you, in brooklyn

monday night,
previous planes,
handheld conversation between us,
(over oceans, not land-- to be understood)
by your facial expression
a forest in the attic
a hidden chest of lockets
buried beneath the roots of our homeostatic inclinations,
to be found.

a market of vegetables
vibrant colors, with
a sunlight bursting above our heads
spilling down our arms, to the warming black pavement
he told me to take the A back home,
take him with me, i wanted!
to only miss a poetry class, i wanted!
to be with him, instead!
to lie in the bed, to sleep, with another's heartbeat;
i wanted!

i imagined, then, a desert river
bursting through trees (which were above),
ripping through brush,
we were floating
but still,
there was space between us

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