Lazer

Balmy nights and flirty eyes,
music on the beach in the evenings,
inhaling all the shitty air our lungs cling to,
his beating heart thousands of miles away,
the vines in the garden moist with expectation,
the promise of poetry before bedtime in the morning,
standing in line for a Savages set,
giving life back to music,
chasing this temperamental existence,
all the romanticism of modern living,
decadent eats on our table out in the street,
speeding home with the windows down,
our voices lost from earlier in the day,
the moon disappearing behind the skyscrapers,
silence befalls our spinning heads,
our love is sealed into the future,
we’re the children of summer.

Waterloo

My favorite Pogues song came on so I asked you to dance with me. You wove your fingers through mine and flashed that devilish grin and I gave up. A couple of rounds later we were twirling around the floor like a pair of fools in love. People were cheering, laughing, kissing around us. I was intoxicated by your closeness, your warmth, your drunken lust. You tasted like cigarettes and mint. Your eyes were gray and full of pleading. You said I was cruel but flashed that smile all the same. I didn’t know what I was, I said. Still you held onto me, refusing to let go. Don’t go, you asked. Come with me, you said. Those gray eyes pierced me. I trailed my fingers along the line of your jaw as I contemplated my wandering stupor. Come with me, I asked you. You made a face at my not answering your question. But still we kissed and kissed and kissed until morning came.

A thousand miles later I stare out the window at the passing Irish countryside and you come back to me like a fragrance in the air. I realize it’s the clothes I’m wearing. I smell like you, your smoke and mint. I smell like that place. I smell like the dewy morning air in London and the brisk evening breeze in Munich. I smell like the smoky sweetness of the Christmas market in Marienplatz and the tangy spiciness of the Caribbean restaurant in Brixton. And now I smell like the salty thrashing currents of Galway, the insane winds sweeping me off my feet come sundown. I should wash my clothes but I don’t want to. You were the city I arrived in, the metropolis I inhabited for a time and the town I said goodbye to on that rainy afternoon. You were the bus I boarded before getting on the plane that would take me across the ocean and back home again.

You were perfect.