L.A.nguid
While I wait for the next set of
glistening eyes
Yeah, when you say maybe
and mean never
When I met him I told him
You use your eyes like weapons
Some things are only meant to be burned on the altar of poetry, liquid like skin
Two planets colliding:
orbits not meant to ever meet again.
Some cities, like kisses that have no right to take and give so much, go to your head.
Where to start? Perhaps from the end
– going backward.
We danced on the H of the Hollywood sign
‘Tis the time of rose gold here
The color of California sunset
The spring of Lana Del Rey and Lorde
Laidback, the occasional listlessness
Head tilted backward on a convertible
We don’t know how lucky we are
His reckless back was softer than your silk robe. I’m not forty, I’m in my second twenties.
In an Uber, real tired, I realize the city I live in possesses the quality and repetition of a videogame,
“what should a town look like”- the approximation fails at convincing
I put the matchbook in your pocket so that one day you may find it in your hand and smile- go back to that night, that rooftop. that’s the scene from a movie.
If your man is gentle, and a good lover, you have two women to thank.
Before I even spoke
He was singing over me
He was counting each of my hair.
![Desk Crit [The Importance of Sketching II]](https://sketchbloom.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/perspective-web.jpg?resize=200%2C200)
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