The street
And an early early thaw
The tramps and troubadours are out
I’m particularly interested
In the other jay-walking poets.
Hear the music?
They can’t sell their rhymes
The beggars stripped to the handle
By need vie for the corners
It’s strict competition
I walked a woman cross the street
She grabbed me by the pockets
But in her eyes she saw me.
It had to be.
She told me.
Broke singers, actors
Dancers, comedians
They walk, live on bread Wine,
Just wine sometimes.
They’re lucky to get a cigarette.
I kissed a strange Indian today.
She was wet and wonderful
From dew that was frost
And reckless with love
She ran up to me
And took my hand
I melted,
Just like the thaw of late
She put my hand on her shoulder
And before long
To cross the street
We danced a proper waltz
I never could hear the music
But I heard her breath
In the middle of the street
And I kissed her
And she me once
I saw doves,
Jumping like archetypes
Of coming storms
Wonder and lust
But the lust was quiet
So quiet,
Like storms in memory

I loved her.
And she me I suppose
Her friend pulled her into the bar
And said, "big trouble".
Of course it's true.