Would you wear yellow,
under the moonlight it is
white any way. All those
missing midnights on rooftops
we inhabited bleeding
into dawn. Baby step out of the
light, you know if you make up
a word it might make it real.

Maybe it is October and it is cold
enough at night that when I am close
you remember August when the heat
was still heavy. When the flowers
littered everywhere and your hips
like the river curving into my hands.

With the orange glow of your cigarette you are
Jupiter, you don’t even know how large you are.
The brightest spot. I spied on you once, a voyeur
with a telescope, watching you spin. Dancing
with your storms.

The crickets still sing their hunger.




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