The Grass is Black/The Air is Pink


feel me/read me/follow me

In The Night, I…

do I?

smell the joss stick
burning on the nightstand?
yes, and I lay on my “bed”
for the night or for the hour;
I try to write
and then cry myself to sleep
dreaming of the past
haunted by old memories-
memories of joy
NOT of sadness…

can I?

allow this one quick kiss?
from a stranger whose
name I could never forget
you were new here and all I
ever wanted, was to watch you
in your moments of solitude
my love, my krush, it seems
it’s you I’ve lost

don’t I?

just want to die?
because I don’t want to lie
much longer to you or anymore
in your bed; waiting for the shot
like a yellow sitting duck
a stack of paperbacks on the floor
two glasses of shiraz on the dresser,
lights off, jazz music coming out
the stereo… The whole time,
I dream of being with another face…

(written: August 31, 2011)


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