Inside your Window

Inside your window
I see the light
Open up your curtains
Let me see through you

I belong now
I belong now to you

We write in poetry what we don’t mean in real life
There’s nothing in Marseille
There’s nothing Toulouse

Let me in I will make you a misfit
You will hate me for the rest of the night
But that’s alright

I will write that I love you
But I won’t mean it

Inside your window
I see the light
Open up your curtains
Let me see through you

I belong now
I belong now to you

 

 

Last Call

Resting on the pavement –
A cigarette and enough time
to look at a star up high,
the brightest;
a radiant fireball dripping splendor,
an omen.

Perhaps I should go into this bar…
This binge started at some other bar, I’m sure.

I’m spinning on the bar stool, nauseous,
looking around.

Two wine glasses dreaming of eternity;
a couple of tequila shots living carpe diem;
twin beer pints promising never to tell;
and, amid the racket, my tears.

The star’s a pale complexion with vivacious features,
with pronounced charms and grace,
and with a stare,
a stare that could divert Cupid’s arrow
anywhere…

She gets up – supple waist –
And comes my way.
A swarm of pelicans take flight inside of me.
She stands before me.
Venus holds my hand,
opens her mouth…
Nothing comes out and I understand it all.