03.24.03 . 1:07 p.m.
160: this city here is beautiful

the city here is beautiful:

the nude afterglow of the evening sun

the crumpled linens on your bedroom floor

the magazines piled in the corner next to your


the books you'll never read.

my clothes from yesterday, still covering my


my shoes lost underneath your bed

your feet resting across my thighs

youre reading my eyes - i can see it on your face

as you watch me staring at the children

playing on the sidewalk outside of your window

the blinds are pulled up,

i can hear cars passing

and mothers screaming

and men grunting.

the boys are in the other room,

playing on keyboards, playing with guitars,

playing the drums...making noise so loud

i can only feel the pulse of the bass

instead of the thumpthumpthump of my own heart


(it doesnt matter)

you already know it beats finely for you.

i am tuned to a T.

like nylon strings you can never break.

when the sun decides to play hide-and-seek,

we'll already have forgotten its effect on

our day.

we'll forget about the seagulls that flew

over the ships that were pulled in at the harbor

near the aquarium

night time is only a fresh start

something new & void of creases

night time is the moment of silences and truth

when between the covers we'll find that maps were

never needed, and that just the two of us

are involved - and points A & B

are your hips to mine.

its as simple as grade school -

no complications, and no mathematics.

we never needed to learn the rules.

(i dont know why we ever bothered)

this house is old - it creaks when you walk

down the stairs.

the doors bend and strain and moan with the walls

at night.

the springs inside the matress make small cries

and plead for us to let up - to sleep softly -

to not cry out in such agonizing points of pleasure.

we'll leave the windows open at night - while we

nest inside of your sheets.

when dawn breaks - sunlight will send shadows across

our faces & stomachs & legs.

the sound of morning chirps, buses, little girls

and little boys will be the only music this old place

can hear.

that, and the sound our bodies will make

when we peel from the skin of blue linens.


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