hiking up Ocean Street sidewalk.
flannel blustering Chinese afternoon
yellow lights and markets, garbage and coffee,
a woman drains my mind
of anything I’d meant to think about today;
I try to romanticize the stark pain haunting my belly,
calculate how couldn’t she think of me.
our deep blue night broke into me like porcelain.
sighs and words from her tongue
replay now that I’ve made it
to San Francisco, driven across the dawn,
walked under chipping fire escapes and neon motels,
the whole lot—
lungs drowned in empty air, breezy lights, midnight faces,
rogue broken beauty and forlorn city loneliness,
no place for love;
only lust and nights and loss and sweaty days and docks–
amidst thousands of lips and hats and guitars and hills,
she is still impossibly not.