it’s more engaging now, the sun,
the soundtrack, the olives.
four brunches later, I was saying
the guy was pink with...
I was saying a guy I wanted
sitting next to me, looking kind of
pink with a rum and coke.
I got nervous that he could read
what I was writing. the olives, the
sunset, the soundtrack....
reverse / the guy’s driving
forward to the olives.
now I’m worried and go up to the phone
hung up in my ear.
not intentionally high speed,
the car with the raindrops and its
one foreign windshield wiper.
an internet where maybe his
parents are holding him captive.
the boyfriend who walked out
because he didn’t see anything worth waiting.
the pinkest love of all is when
we both face the new painting
and the noise rings nine of his
top digits.
no, the noise rises to something like
a dancehall we decide not to enter.
instead we drive through the rain
and fall asleep on the couch.
I almost lift you up from the couch
ringing in my ear.
you are soundly.
you are the olive is I love.
like what I must have known is forever...
