He's concrete and
I'd love to be sidewalk chalk --
wash me away with rain,
but first let me lay a brief mark of my own
on all of his sidewalk cracks and all of his
broken pieces, the little slabs and pebbles that
weathered off from storms -- let me spill drawings there
with neon bright color
that are almost obscene in their hue.
Yes, I know it's temporary, we're temporary,
but maybe that's what makes it so
magnificent.
am i talking about hickeys or my mortality I still don't know
