end of the nite

i was walking alone, when you drove by on all that
hardware, cling-bling, splash

gliding thru streetlight hookers, dancing like rain, called by the mornia buzz,
just bought.
somewhere wise heartbeats mimic feet - mine. i didn’t ask for a ride - paper bits just after sunset, and mosquitoes, trembling in their ten thousand notes

in the hot
neon ocean with its
smooth corners and wavy
feather bed i was safe once, clutching a small part of your world, while you fucked me, the DJ did his burn and delete. we kept up a slow melon thump to - “i looked at you and you looked at me”
theodore roethke in his owlish look: lightly lit, self-absorbed, porcelain, rubbed studded pockets made us wander back out into another long decade and suddenly we were famished and you bought me roses.