the ones with stencil flies
on the rim that enclose
my ankle, as it looks for love
in all the wrong places.
It is always night time
when I notice we are
still together. Maybe 3am.
We don’t need to talk,
I use your pace as soft
focus, while my thoughts
concrete themselves in
layers. No one is around
to draw a stick through
my brain cement,
to shape a heart encasing
the initials of two lovers,
just us. I have looked
at your soles slapping
the pavement a thousand
times as you skirt the icy grass.
Even though you are scuffed
and deal in chipped rubber,
even though you lace
wet jeans and are humbled
by cobblestones and
unreliable steps,
you keep coming
back for more of me.