I wander through the city,
skipping every crack.


It never feels as real,
hearing it from your lips.

When you write it,
I’m elated.
It’s warm honey daubing
crusty sourdough
as I sip a cup of joe
and gaze out the window
at the ocean mist
under a toasty sunset.

Yet, when I listen to you speak,
hear your tone
as I gaze into your eyes,
the glow just isn’t there.

I want to believe
you have just lost it,
but I really can’t remember.


I stop to scrape gum off my sole.

-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet