An older woman on the subway
is eavesdropping on a conversation
between two young riders who are
exchanging hurried glances,
smiling and
looking away. Over and over
and again and again.
This woman,
she blushes,
she is creating a time
twenty-some odd years
before, and the excitement of
beauty wasted on the young,
darting eyes, to the
background faces and back,
around and again,
like a fly
slow dancing
with neon

If I were a master tailor
I would make you a dress
of X's and O's, and it would
flow like the sunlight's golden nile
down the strands of your hair and to
your ankles and to your toes,
and it would drip like saliva,
leaving a puddle of eyelashes
and sweat and tears
seeping into the crevices
between your skinny little feet

We cannot imagine a world where
these things come easily, the
greatest things in life come only
with a price tag stating
that acquisition
is impossible.
That is to scare away the ones who
are able to sleep at night, calm in the arms
of a half deflated liferaft
and in the arms of a fully living

it is one twenty seven
and the wind is blowing the screen and
the lights are damp and casting
their summer shadows -
I am four thousand
three hundred and
eighty steps away
but i am
looking at
you, just as well.

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