A. Imagine some place where the parties are behind us a shoreline hissing. the light from windows crosses our arms in triangles. I am the boy you don't know, who drinks red wine; I write poetry but no one knows it; because I never get too drunk.
B. You ask me why, I point to the light shining through, crimson on bare skin through your sandals; I don't know anything about red wine, in fact, I prefer the cheapest kinds; that taste like sour grape bubble gum; "no, why the red wine," and I tell you again: I like the ones that taste like bubble gum. C. We kiss sometimes if the door was closed. But mostly We look at stars and whisper about meeting someone just like you. When the party ends we are too shy to trade numbers. But it happens every so often; even when you have some Marxist boy who knows a lot about alcohol, arguing about politics in the other room with a bunch of socialists. We don't kiss those times; but we hear him mention that he writes poetry. D. Sometimes you hope to see me at a party if you are going; but you never go "just in case" I am there. When I am there, we meet up only after a while and we go outside to smoke. I never smoke, and you never smoke, we just watch moisture transform our words into dragons; and then the sun starts coming up and the glass collides with glass in the house, in the sink, and it is time to go, to go, to go again, weaving ways through a jungle of collapsed drunks and sleeping couples, and the songs are telling you, you'd better run, run run, run run to me; but there is no running anymore. Just a slow, tired walk apart, to separate corners of our own ruin. -e. _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
