day seven

writing a poem every day of my long long winter break.

you made a wrong turn

about six minutes ago,

but our natural rhythm has become

getting lost.

suddenly and serenely it seems

we’re the only two people

in the entire barren world.

the road is endless

and each yellow painted line

ticks like a clock

that does not hold time,

but each of your eyelashes

that click across people

on the subway like they’re characters

in a story narrated by the way you feel

the music behind new eyes,

headphones like anchors

pulling the beauty of your mind

into the city scape of Chicago’s

ocean floor. an airplane flies overhead

flipping our world right-side-up,

revealing the expanse of clouds

which blocks each and every star

that you desperately wish

to catch with those lashes clicking,

never ending, but not tonight

because you bloom in the clouds

and sigh condensation, fog

against your windshield,

dew rolls off your lashes,

until the last light in the last

window goes out.

so maybe we’re going the wrong way,

but I like getting lost. 

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

there is nothing like getting lost with and in a lover...

who cares about direction when a relationship is new and so fresh and innocent...that attraction is like a traffic signal stuck on green.