The lights of the city sparkle from outside my window.
They, this view, will always remind me of you.

Water splashes down at my face and up at my boots as I walk these cobbled streets
- the same ones we used to stroll
hand in hand
white dog in tow
glancing up at the brownstones we passed
and joking how we'd live there one day.
Only I wasn't joking..

Remember when you kissed my face
and wrapped the strength of your arm around my shoulder like I was yours,
the only one?
I do...

Because the thing is I'm going to miss you.
I'm going to ache for you
and maybe cry myself to sleep a time or two.
I wonder if it will ever be easy to let you go
the way it was for you.

I'm not sorry I have to go;
I shouldn't have to convince you to love me.
But I wonder if you will remember me
and each night we spent wrapped in each other's arms
watching movies and knocking my laptop to the floor
because we were so eager to touch.

These are the things I need to know.
Because as I stand near this window
and watch the lights flicker on with twilight
I remember you waiting there,
watching you throw your bag over your shoulder.
I remember waiting for the smile and wave that never came
and the call that never rang..

and still
it was the sweetest goodbye I've ever known.

I think of her
running her hands over your hair and across your face
and it makes me sick.

Because I know I get frustrated with the way you want me
and it may seem I don't appreciate you
and I know I need to work on letting you have your space.

But she doesn't know you're self-conscious of your scars
or that touching them makes you squirm.
She's going to try to kiss you
and maybe you'll let her
but then she'll find out your lips are soft like clouds
and she'll never want to stop.

She's going to start growing weak when you speak
because every word has a meaning
and eventually she'll learn which smile is the one that means you've let go of the past
- if only for the moment.

She'll start to grow sad when you need time alone.
She doesn't know that painting's your whole life
and she won't understand.
She won't know that writing's the way you escape
when your mind is too narrowed on your past to focus on the future.

Because you won't tell her about Nigeria
or why you have to feel in control
or maybe you will, once you're sure she's the one.

But I guess if she makes you happy, I'm happy.
Because that's all I've ever wanted for you.
No wait - I'm not that selfless
because I still love you, too...

Philadelphia warlords slip sideways in a cantankerous bed of grout.
The mind denies what the body acknowledges
in its treacherous games of hope and wait.

Quickened footsteps beat mercilessly on the pavement in a forward-backward pattern
that helps no one and speaks to shadows,
yet sacred bloodlust and cramping desire
provide an outlet for the city lying at his feet.

Only a fool speaks softly in a time of war.

Rebellious minds harbor fugitives in the explosive hour of the darkening sun
Allowing wandering eyes and covered whispers
towards holy crosses, ***** on a distant lawn.

Dark faces and shortened noses appear at twilight to provide refuge
from the "war goin' on outside"
taking our own
and beating them senseless with shoe-polished silverware
and books on secret societies.

Yet aside from the divine and acknowledged kinship between us
lie two drunken, disorderly dreamers
with false hope of vows and six-digit salaries
buried beneath violent shouting over fragile egos.

Existential cruelty of a long abandoned Friday
Remembered once, twice
then forgotten by 8 pm.

The shots of Chiraq and memories of Hatshepsut linger effortlessly on his doorstep in the dark of sunlight,
but smiles in his lap disappear on the pavement beneath skyscrapers
before the dead of noon.

His mind travels to the curvy bodies of Monroe types.
A palm, a fist, a thumb
caress ******* and legs before he wakes
to find hair on his pillow and lips in his face
where only days before a yellow sky and bright green eyes waved and faded.

And all because interracial pride and prejudice leaked toils and tensions in the face of Basquiat
Where once African princes and white German queens
spent Tuesday afternoons charming their ways into each others' beds
and sighing at the disgust stamped on the faces of strangers.

Lonesome misty Monday mornings
watch me gaze upon the swells
where the divers reach for rescue
over, under, paddling out..

Yellows, blues, and grays - so cloudy
gentle clings and hopeful sobs
Boaters bobbing, drifting; unsure
of their worthless, urgent trust.

Bring me freedom from this grieving,
save me from this endless doubt;
wave to me in sweet surrender.
Hug me goodbye

These tears...
...fade out

I'm not someone you should love now, baby.
I'll ruin your life,
I'll drive you crazy.

I'm the boy your daddy warned you about.

So listen to my heartfelt cries
my tearful pleas
these long goodbyes.
Know it's not what I want to say
but I can't bear to hurt you this way.

I've seen your tears,
watched your heart crack
And I wish I could take you back.

You made me happy
I felt alive
Life was more than the way to survive.

But you deserve more
My life is too heavy
And we are both too broken already.

Maybe one day we'll find this funny.
I can't be the strength for your scars now, honey.


Oh, by the way - I'm in love with someone else.