The clouds like lint rolling in
with tiny shadows under the ridge of your brows,
your nostrils and the corners of your mouth
Hope, my breath, was wafting towards a sun that was plush, carefully, patiently present
for touch and mercy to chase away
It dissolved my aches along a 20 block walk through Time Square
in this city that has ceased to be the center
A phrase I have heard more than once
All the footsteps bring me to this path,
to a groove that opened a tin box of teas
one for men that hold grapes above my lips and lie with me as I eat them
one for steering desire into something that doesn’t bruise my skin and scuff my heart
to warm my hands with an ecstatic state that rises daily like the sun
that can be brought to it’s knees
when I am bound by what I cannot have.
