B-Side Story (A Love Poem)


this morning whispers a scratched B-side
tune of the coffee brewer gasping for breath,

like Darth Vader with asthma, the aroma
seemingly spreading its noise over

the sizzling Sicilian sausages you slow burn
as you did to my heart that first morning

of all mornings we laid in bed dispossessed
of time and clothes while you read

Thus Spoke Zarathustra aloud, and I delighted
on the words dripping from your mouth, crystal

notes on the alluring instrument of your lips, parted
as petals cracking open at midnight in that lost poem

I found when you came walking through walls -Scarlett
Johansen-ing in a Bukowski novel-, the deafening song

of your skin moaning destiny, siren under the Blue Moon
neon sign that recited its buzz like miniature mantra cicadas

on the way to my heart, that city where you thumped in
as a wingless ten-foot angel mumbling earthly heavens

full of marvels that twenty years later still sit in your eyes
like the tangerine sunrise of your B-side kiss

-from a forthcoming collection of poems


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