Look Homeward, Angel
On an abandoned building roof in the tattered city,
We sat on old stone ledges reading older books
Waiting for sunset dusk.
You said your favorite author was Mark Twain
Or Amy Lowell,
I said I would prefer Paul Verlaine or Baudelaire.
You wore cut dirty jeans as sexy as a Saturday dream
3 AM in summery July when I’m too in reverie
To hear the gunshots or the ambulances go by.
I wouldn’t mind dodging drug dealers or anyone unkind
To escort you to a movie theater at midnight,
I like your dark eyes and inner light.
Next time you get a new tattoo,
I want a butterfly on the back of your neck,
I want to hold your soft black hair back
As the tattoo artist does his magic.
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