She’s wearing
Her favorite dress.
It’s the one that’s all black with
The pink dahlias running
Up the side.
She closes
The door
And smiles.
It’s the kind
Of smile that talks, it says,
“I can read minds”.
There’s a burning in both
Of our guts, so she grabs
The bottom of that dress,
(The one I love)
And stretches her arms to the
Sky until it’s on the floor.
Now,
Its just laundry.
She holds the box of Lo Mein.
We’re drunk and wandering, which is
The best thing to do
When you’re drunk because
The world spins
Beneath you.
It’s like those moving
Sidewalks in the airport.
So we’re laughing, and
Stumbling, and she’s eating,
And the streets of Montreal are
Shining from the day’s rain.
I want to be
Here
With her
Forever,
But she finishes the noodles,
And the peanut sauce,
And dumps the box somewhere
In a garden.
Now,
Its just trash.
There are babies in the park.
I’m smoking a joint
With some French guy
And she’s lying on a blanket in the grass, she’s
Still giving me that smile, and the guy is
Laughing in his accent, and the Moms
Hold their babies, and far off,
There’s a Hobo
Singing to himself,
And he’s wearing a ragged dress,
And picking at the trash,
And the air feels like bathwater, and
I look around and the babies keep on crying,
And my love,
She won’t
Stop
Smiling.
Now,
I’m too **** scared to say
What we become.
