your face is framed by the
streetlight streaming in the chill of
the night air and
your hands are warm against
my body, wide, my tummy grumbles,
not a hungry grumble but more
the grumble of an old man, frustrated
by age and worn by his days.

"Nothing could make this moment better."
a gentle nod as I twist away from you,
and twirling in the cold is freezing
my veins and you
pull me close
again.

we can smoke all we want,
drink all we want
curse all we want and
still,

everything else is extra.
excess and nonsense.

my playful words and your
roots in protest,
the way your coarse hair
leaves red blotches all
over my
skin.

run your fingers through my hair and still,
everything else is
extra.