She tucks her hair behind her ears,
and a ten-year body of softness
pulls at my every memory and muscle. Let this go.
She is timeless as the
line of buildings, as the lake
pounding rocks into pebbles,
a handful of sand thru my fingers,
the lingering sense of sangria
and cigarettes from long ago.
The sun pounds concrete & glass &
the people I pass on the street
seem black n' white, or maybe
I stopped being sensitive to
hues of mood, substituting
reaction for compassion. Trying to
save it all up for her.
Everywhere I see women,
but none that I would treat better,
for a while, at least.
For the streets change fast like
Chicago seasons,
like weather or not you're
prepared,
the air shifts and is gone.
Long, shadowed halls of the
intangible enveloping waves of steam of days
& the way I wanted things to be.
Traces of transcended flaws
of personality and her afterimage
outlined on the lids of my eyes.
I think about sleep,
and decide to write.
