The night your footprints stained the white ground and
the snowflakes struggled against your hot breath
I had a feeling that the moon was watching us:
the egg-shell craters are under your skin,
they are cracking now.
Yesterday the cherry sunset on Central Park west caught
us making eyes so I
looked away
into the speeding city lights,
the yellowing hues of warm bodies
and salty cocktails.
I’ve been waiting for the right moment
to tell you-
when I wake the nightingale
has a habit of singing me into
your web of
dreams.
In and out of sleep,
I
chase you into the dark.
I had a feeling
we could go somewhere.
Lie with me and
carve the road upon my wrist.
