Say yes! goddammit.
The mirage is real.
Poaching the small hours
the laptop’s glow, the cursor’s death
I’ve come here to breathe and write
and I’m all out of breath;
responsible for the increase of hospital bed mentions
in my poems.
We meet one night outside that busy bar
on Orion’s belt –not sure which star of three, I confuse their names–
and you tell me about this life, here, and I tell you it never happened;
architecting the unimaginable.
Now, counting without numbers;
tongue tendentious, tigers in her eyes
she walks with a step that revolutionizes summers