asphalteyes

.The bottom of my ros

Is sweet with loneliness

When your 20 pounds heavy

tears come slow on asphalt eyes

Yesterdays scars turn pink on your skin



She is dressed in desire fabrics

swash buckled in glory

alcohol tinted eyes

I chase the hem of her skirt in circles

until I am dizzy

confused and breathing heavy

She is carried away on the wings

Of some other preening middle class man

who has never cried into a lonely ros



The music unlocks the ropey crevices

of a tightly bound psychology

You lay on a concrete bed

concerned and cuddled by

passers by

who tell you

they have seen better days

.