February through August

February through August I listened to the clock watch serenade.
The tick, the tock, the sinking of Titanic all came and went again.

I would understand better, I thought, if forgetting happened to forget me.

I love your eyes that mimic freshly baked croissants from the patisserie
or the golden brown yam and goat cheese empanadas I'm craving now.

They're beautiful, the quiet giggle under your breath, and delightfully mischievous,
smirking around the outer edges for that perfect and decisive curve up
where the brush lifts off satisfied "voilà!"

voilà!

This was Chicago. I'm in my salt crusted black jeans behind you.
Walking up the stairs, your thighs are the cruelest set I'd ever seen.





Let us be anything but reasonable I

6" x 8"