Constructing a world where all you seek to achieve is futile distraction
vagabonds accost us on subways
Life cuts your phone out of your jeans' back pocket and
Scores your heart with wasted possibilities
To cope, you cleanse your pallet with well balance liquids and smooth over the rough edges of an existence so desperately desirous to be made unique
That is where a love lives.
In errant moments lost in alphabet bars
In shared dreams, witness to the singularly soulful promise of a few eager fingers interlaced with a few other equally eager fingers.
There is that enviable ease of living
Longed for by many
Achieved by so few
Punctuated by the clarity of earnest tears restricted by subzero temperatures and laughed out of substantiation all for an illusive sense of self preservation
Somewhere floating in lower Manhattan, there is a love held captive by the intimacy of the grasp of your forearm
A glance of pressure along the inside of my knee
Disguised by the clever capitulations of world weariness, disillusion, and poorly cloaked need.
There is where a love lies.
Someday you will show it the excellence of all it has been promised. There will be veracity sufficient to color a life and love hard won.
Until then, that opal moon beams soothingly over missteps and black bunches of balloons and siphoned expectations and waits for the day all is changed because the sun rises at just the right angle to dispel all doubt.
In that pocket of horizontal space between sunrise and moonsleep, inexhaustible, unafraid of dying, that is where a love lies.
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