When the heart of a city opens,
home becomes disorganized curbside couches,
and the strings of a guitar.

When the heart of the city opens,
we will swell in trumpets and overheard
love and stammering, fingers reaching
for the heaven of this dark street night.

And you and I will go silent by ghost-marked streets
with Victorians leaning and the bricks stacked down safely.
And you and I will go laughing and naked, smiling
hand to hand, singing in the crowd, pissing in alleys
eating fried dough holes in the festival fall night
and the city rushes on.

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