I saw Ada,
In New York. I hit her up,
and she wanted to meet up for breakfast.
The next morning:
She had on slate shorts, a ruffling, loose white t,
And chucks falling apart at the seams
in scythes of fabric.
Her hair bobbles
as she bounces over.
It's so frizzy and curly
as if it’s been through electroshock.
She gives me a hug and as she pulls away
her lips hit my cheek.
A grey pigeon lands in my sight behind her
and pushes a white turd out onto a starbucks lid.
The best thing
Is seeing exes that you haven’t
talked to or seen in awhile; and hearing
them talk about the great things they’ve done
In your time apart.
It’s almost as if I was right there with Ada
when she was experiencing
her new love of Brooklyn.
I am
A ghost in her life,
And in that piece of my heart
That misses her,
I like the feeling of being
as free as a spectre;
an unobtrusive observer.