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I remember Los Angeles skipping away in pink panties. I remember a man waving flags for the coming of blue. I remember the waltz of a red, panting dancer and the quieting steps of your breath when I crept into you. I dream you'll remember my laugh like the the striking of lightning, my walk like the filling of all your old holes, the flint of my eyes making sparks on the gold thrones of high kings and my wearing down shoes through their soles. Remember, your home is the feeling of two necks intwining. Remember the green of the apples that fall down too soon. Remember the song that was playing with blackly bad timing as the violet of sundown streaked ominous over the moon. I still like the shadows of bruises that wrestling love brings. I still stare til I'm blinded and new. The flint of my eyes still makes sparks on the gold thrones of high kings, but Los Angeles still skips away with its arms holding you. Discuss this article |
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