dans un autre pays.
afternoons downtown
hiding from the world in some
tiny hole on the ninth floor.
the sun caresses our skin
i’m under you-blanket,
because you opened the window.
half of you smokes a cigarette,
and the other half is mine.
evenings come through,
as i’m finally in your arms
as briefly as you are.
you worry that i’m staying
for too, too long
and i say it’s just a monday
like every other monday and if i
leave
you’ll be alone.
but the mornings at your place,
smoky and warm,
like your peach green tea
crumbling on your bed
you and i and
your son
and your sesame seed crackers and
my boy and
your ex wife
and my tears, your chet baker.
