(no subject)
there's a statically blinking streetlight outside your window
and every pulse and shudder catches my eye as we move.
off and on, we're talking- we're the streetlight
vibrant in blinking conversation and dull in silence.
i was cooking you dinner as i wrote this
trying to think of a fitting allegory
for safeway brand angel hair
and imagery that suggests love and squalor
as i'm pouring you a glass of $2 wine.
"something about this bottle doesn't sit right,"
you say- with your smile and your pink lips.
"could be it hasn't aged enough to be good."
so we hid it under your bed for a time undetermined
and we finished off the bag salad with vinaigrette.
later, we play hangman on your window
a stick figure drawn with your breath on the frosted glass
off and on, we're squinting with the streetlight
as it ebbs and rises without rythym.
your fingers leave a smudge on the window
as they trace letters and draw the stick-figure's fate.
so we sit on the floor in your bedroom
and in between flickers, i see you smile.
and every pulse and shudder catches my eye as we move.
off and on, we're talking- we're the streetlight
vibrant in blinking conversation and dull in silence.
i was cooking you dinner as i wrote this
trying to think of a fitting allegory
for safeway brand angel hair
and imagery that suggests love and squalor
as i'm pouring you a glass of $2 wine.
"something about this bottle doesn't sit right,"
you say- with your smile and your pink lips.
"could be it hasn't aged enough to be good."
so we hid it under your bed for a time undetermined
and we finished off the bag salad with vinaigrette.
later, we play hangman on your window
a stick figure drawn with your breath on the frosted glass
off and on, we're squinting with the streetlight
as it ebbs and rises without rythym.
your fingers leave a smudge on the window
as they trace letters and draw the stick-figure's fate.
so we sit on the floor in your bedroom
and in between flickers, i see you smile.