love, this is your neat summer
the twinkling twilight of near unconsciousness
open affections tucked away in the park
the women there, tending babies. you see
the large church at six, six, six on filbert
old men lining up at mama’s for breakfast
all those lovers in the foreplay of morning
ghosts in nondescript cars going crazy
the chorus of chinese clearing their throats in the alley
heavenly, heavily
we heave our bodies forward into sight. then
we leave them in the night, where we found them
cradled by our mothers, crying & laughing at once
born as the bells ring & singing as they die away
we are among saints
we are bothered by crowds, choked w/wings & coughing
projected on the streets like stars
wrapped in the season & still… a secret.
(via cursivebuildings)
