in my boots with my friend
pulling on caps and wiping
wet bangs from our foreheads
spitting words onto the street
and giggling for three years
dodging late night sprinklers
and homeless dogs and
penny whistlers.
hopin' and prayin' her favorite
place is open where the woman
sits at her piano and i say it
feels like we're in paris, in
musee carnavalet only this time
gay boys with sparkle rings
grab the mic and sing to their
hearts content and our hearts
sing with them. and them, some
funny foreigners ask me how i
like it up north and sugar rimmed
glasses in dainty hands out of
long baggy sweaters and ripped
dresses, dirty tresses, chapped
lips, turning off the telephone
to just listen. we ask questions like
why do hearts break and why does
it hurt and when can i see you next,
why did we cut our hair and hair
tied up in knots we complain and
say we're growing it out, growing
like an alphonse mucha belle
epoque girl, hair down to our knees
like eliot's mermaids not his own.
thinking about series and lampshades
and nook tables and paris and
john coltrane licking our ears,
get up to say goodbye come again.
bay windows and pillows and yes
i'll come again.
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