Lost under the negative of sunlight
he watched.
Hersey kisses flickered
shadowed by lashes thick with pretentious naivety
as feet laced tight roamed through the streets
at the late nights lips.
Rain tattooed neighborhood watchdogs--
housewives in doubt of their husbands late work hours,
swearing the insomnia the result of menopause,
not denial.
Blinded by watery windows
they abandon their stand before the boy passes by--
carrier of juicy gossip for mid-afternoon luncheons
when conversation sways.
His destination is one-oh-four
settled between oh-two
and oh-six.
A cherry blossom kiss lingers on his lips
but the window is black
and the night stands still
a whisper on the wind carries with it the sign
licking his skin to make it stand on end
pulling him closer--
but knowing he cannot--
the door is shut to him
but her song sings on over the rain
and for a second he considers,
body lingers, then turns,
deciding finitely
not to show his face here anymore.
He carries on down the street
and once again
a connection is lost.
