He wears a Rolex to
the spot we go
eat eggs and brioche
warm my belly
like skim milk coffee
dreams he asks for
refills and me I
ask him why he
is the way he is and
isn't and his eyes light
up like baby blue
sunbeams and songs I
finally stop sweating
so I can hear his
words without my
own reflections in the
mirror it's safe
to do so much
of nothing and
everything together
is not enough when
black umbrellas cost
five dollars and body
parts so small we
will laugh all
day I think we
could make each
other more than
big rocks that hold
our heads and I
don’t want to see
you walking from
behind but speak
in odds and restless
repetition even
yawns are little
bits of butter next
to constant realizations
of infatuated energy
and I would like
to drive your car.