***Adult Content – viewer discretion advised ***
Whispered in her ear
Before her nostrils flare,
filling with air
Though sighed out quicker yet
For the feeling of their
if i didnt hate myself
maybe i would stop
with the memory
Were we music?
There seemed to have been a song there,
Writ in B7,
“Nobody Knows The Trouble I’ve Seen”
“Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay”
Now that I’ve “Walk(ed) Away” I am “Down In The Valley,”
Though “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine”.
Two new and an old,
and a circuit closed,
Each of them I proposed.
Bleecker’s bleaker in the rain,
Hipsters, comedians, and musicians (sometimes one and the same) all scattered out between the raindrops,
Hiding in little shops selling chess pieces and Himalayan artifacts and $1.50 slices thinner than the paper plates they’re served on,
Grateful for a dry place to roll their spliffs,
A place to sit and be still with a screen staring back blankly at them,
Chatter about the night ahead,
Mindless status updates as ephemeral as the rain
Slightly damp steps and streets the only remembrance of the sogginess yesterday.