flowers
don’t bloom in concrete
I haven’t felt
warmth in 214 days
your eyes
tell me you remember
three years ago;
an unraveling
of flowers
the hazel
of which
reminds me
of the sunlight
on my grandmother’s
wooden floor.
your girl looks at you
in a picture on your timeline
does she see
your eyes
in the back
of her eyelids
did she ache for 423 days
without you
for your sake,
I hope she did.

Snow in Brooklyn
is quiet
still enough
to hear
the heartbeat of my city
the drumming
of which
keeps me awake
on warmer nights
but in the cold
every ghost
is wrapped around
the air
turning circles
the color
of your hair.

We drove for 17 hours
straight
through crooked roads
of pine
dust
mountain
I called
for a higher power
to release
the tired
from my palms;
your hand on mine
reliving a happiness
I was after
you: a crooked
straight
line
falling asleep
somewhere outside
Richmond, Virginia;
my parents:
now two straight
crooked lines
descending now
from one another,
a home broken,
my mother
with her palms clenched;
I asked
if we would fall now
to the same fate
and you told me
your palms
would always be open;
I relived a new childhood
one with you
behind every tree;
I set my gaze to home.

I loved
you
when I didn’t know you
I loved you
when I didn’t
know of rotting
and aching
and how the summer
eventually leaves
but I fell
in love
with roads and stars
you crashed
out of my dreams
and she became
a refuge
haunting
filling the empty hallways
of places I knew
which were few
after you
but you
you
you
are crashing back
though I am
resistant
I want to sit
on porches
and dream with you
I want to take
your hand just
like old times
I want to
rewind
back to the fall
back to drinking
at the bar
If lonely
is a lifetime
then I’d wait
for a cool breeze
to take me
and when
it never happens
I’ll find the perfect
view
of the stars
from my waiting
and waiting
and waiting.

Before
I never understood
why the Prince Charmings
fought for the
sleeping princesses
atop hidden
fortresses
but upon
finding you
I think
I know
what it is –
lying next to you
drinking you —
not a conquest
but a loving
confession
of arms —
you kiss me
and I am
awake.

Only two hours here
in the city
and I am
writhing
at the hands of you
oh powerful
woman god
strange Phoenix
of whims
and love
and hate
I love you
in time
to the city.

I like the
way the city looks
in the rain
we're sure gods
sloshing through puddles
you're holding my hand
and letting go
to things
in the sky
I hope to god
we find our raincoats
underneath
our tolerance for
**** on the next street
over
and the way
our faces
grow older
with every black
death on the
television
but
this isn't living
this isn't living,
no.
I like you
grew up on tumblr
and a father
who drank
enough to love you
you're wounded
but isn't our whole
generation
acting out our
violences
on television.
If bad luck
could talk
she would drive
me out of the city
without saying
a word.
yes
I know
I'm a coward
when it comes
to keeping my word
but I would marry
her tomorrow
If I could.
vacating the tombs
of Montrose Avenue
and ghosts of the desert
Simon & Garfunkel
on the stereo
shop windows reflecting
an aching reckoning
I like the
way the city looks
in the rain.