first date conversation: research
on lemurs and taxis without floors
because the city is too poor
for upscale renovation
and we exchange backgrounds and
drug stories and some-day-soon
kind of musings
/a southern peach and a sour
stiletto; the man in corner singing
slowly Nobody's Child/
and eventually we write our names in chalk
on the ceiling (and the wall because
I'm tired of places appearing as if I'd
never been there at all)
and later still we write our names in heat
against the cloudy window (twice
because the steam keeps swallowing up
our evidence of existence)
but it's easy to write again and
again because our names are the same
and I'm starting to believe in this idea
of genuine permanence