sometimes
when contemplating the theatre
i
remember, always as the observer
watching
you kissed on stage
it’s
just a play
and
yet
the
silver spandex
wet,
sparkling eyes
those
metallic blues &
the
kiss was, always someone else
i
watched your heart beat through your breasts
in
front of a spaceship
or
some shit
some
hero at your lips.
this
mirror, bent on my head
and
still
tableaus
i can’t
pick
myself up from
dusty
seats, this hinge will
rust
at 90 degrees
a
standing invitation
i’ve
got season’s rickets
to
your play
santé
i’ll
sit
and
still
drinking
in the third row from the back.
