There were no separate beds we fell from
but there were different doors we left through,
giving a kiss over steam and burnt toast
only to vanish into dimensions that both played
the worst music on stations cursed with the grittiest static
a white man could invent.
Later , over french fries and cold cuts left over from some party or other,
we discuss the news we heard twenty four hours ago.
This was before the internet and phones
that poked you in the ribs
or purred against your privates
when something / anything / nothing at all
was happening somewhere / anywhere / nowhere you could name
happened, is happening, or is about to happen soon, can’t say when.
Cigarettes to smoke,
a column to write,
a costume to draw
perchance to stitch ,
drinks
and then
fairy tales,
stories from books,
lazy diction and
funny accents
of farm animals
in short pants
carrying tools to the barn
where they are building a big boat
as dark clouds form over the horizon
of a grey, roiling ocean.
There were no separate beds,
as I said
but after an hour of saying good night and sweet dreams,
we drifted into our different acres of nodding mist,
I in a car
and then flying, no plane,
over all the rooftops of houses
I’ve lived in here and there and anywhere I recollect,
you, as you said later,
in a boat that
comes up to a grand hall
and you’re somehow now in front of the stairs
in the best gown ever made
waiting for a man
of fortunes known and mysterious
to arrive
and take you to places
where there is only harmony,
nothing but sweet notes
as you pour the milk into your cereal
and sip coffee that tastes of spirits
that would circle you toe to the part of your hair
and keep you loved,warm , safe
from my worst habits and best intentions.
You told me that when
you were mad at me.
I lit a cigarette and gave it to you
and then lit another and took a drag.
“My little numbskull”
you said to me
and I don’t think I’ve been as happy since then.
