We plan and sort
and aren't the types to forget
the comfort of a welcome
a cup of coffee or badly bruised fingers caught in the seam of a door
the pain reminds us that, we’re alive.
At the corner coffee shop, I sleep in my thoughts
daydream in the wrinkles in people’s faces
and read my future in the strands of your loose hairs
short and blunt
cut straight across the eyes
shavings hidden in my pockets
you give me forever in a cup of black coffee
no cream nor sweetness

•              like your women

the live women who fill the rooms where you are
breast and hips flow in and out to fill the holes where you are
these women are strong
the way sixty isn't enough for jeans, thighs or a new kind of lover
you make your promises under a warm moon
there are no sharp edges in your letter
written in haste
it's waves crash and dull the grain of the page
with wood round and kneeling
it gives way to thumbs and crescents.
I say I'm happy for you
but the words finds their home in my mouth
like giving refuge to a lie or answering to a name not given to you
neither by purchase, barter or lottery
So we see, to own a phone is NOT to have a conversation
we show politeness but the nest of hair on your chest
Left unshaved for me to see, stays with me
The last time I needed you, I left the country.
But one can't hide from her dirty pillows or dresser drawers, they come with her.

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