Reach into my pocket.
I’ve a
crumpled dollar bill for love.
I believe in the phoenix
behind the curtain.
And
a kiss that crumples roses
(I wish I were a white rose
for you). I love you
like
the bookmarks of all of my
favorite boarded up book-
stores. Anyway, what
do I
expect to say, Smooch-of-
Angel at stroke of midnight?
I get lost on the tossed seas,
I guess. My spot on
the
couch gets ever deeper
as yours draws ever
