wiping the outside off my face with a soapy tissue,
I wash my hair,
get dressed
and head to dinner.
coffee and the smell of cigarettes
from an European couple at the next table,
I am letting myself have alone time.
not writing much about anything,
only occasional "i'm here"s
and "i'm there"s
in my notebook.
waiting for the cab at an empty-ish street
of returning bicyclists and slow cart-pullers,
I felt the ocean crashing against the insides of me.
just me here,
and red car-lights
reflecting in my eyes.
returning to nothing in particular.
taking off my shoes,
my bracelet,
my shirt;
i'm wiping the outside
off my face.
with my feet up on a glass table
in nothing
but a necklace I know I will struggle to unclasp,
i'm looking at the streetlights in the city from this big hotelroom window; thinking
of asking for another chocolate-coffee for one.