doing the dishes, placing jars
into their destined cupboards.
the stereo up, motorcycle boots
sliding across the tiles. the fabric of
my op-shop dress is getting
awful soapy & soaked. finding
a little bliss in these
domestic things.
dancing around believing i have
the ancestry of kings, of witches & thieves
with my egyptian hands & asiatic eyes
i am saying goodbyes & kayseraseras
to you. hellos & howdoyoudo to
whatever comes my way.
as i walk across the street in the
glare of a hundred headlights, hair
drifting in the eastern winds. i see
a gorgeous young drunk, in blue & white,
seated in a sepulcher, by this electric sea.
i am so shocked by his curious ((possessive)) stare
that i turn my head down to my feet
reminded of sunsets when i made sure
we would never touch. hating myself for
being so unable, so hindered & plain.
& not allowing chance encounters to
take place, being the brick wall
with your face flat against it.
but it's all i can be, i lack
whatever it is that allows
everyone else to give
their secrets away.
though frivolous &
contradictory; what i
really want is to be
wanted in return