Nightime

 With my ankles

submerged in sea foam,

hoping to find a pretty shell, 

I get a beer and 

watch a man be rude for no other reason than 

he isn't getting lucky tonight. 

Partly because the girl is a lesbian, 

mostly due to his overwhelming testosterone.

I chat with another guy who

gave up on his luck 

and knocks down another Guinness. 

Thank you for watching my

    every move. 

To be in love with this life 

is to understand the moments that make 

it

wonderful. And to wait for you 

is my favorite delay to anticipate. 

I return to you on my cell phone in violet, scratchy hues, and I still feel untouched in an addictive way. I can have my lower back exposed to the screen, or hands curled into my chin, as long as it ends in twenty violent screams.

George Clooney. DJ mixes, witch house and YouTube are all great. I can read Chris, Eileen, Joan, Simone, and Kathy.

I’m feeling exposed as I ride my bike down Broadway and I’m okay with it. On the opposite end, my chest hair is curling because of the humidity. I’m comforted by the sweat in my pants.