Sunday, June 14, 2009

after mexican food

the lights of bleecker street seem low somehow
or maybe it's that all i can see is your face,
eyes staring out at me as the words stumble out of my mouth
like drunken actors forgetting their lines.

i hate that you're right, and that once again
i could have done better.
i should have done better.
my eyes are searching for a place to look that is anywhere but you
and they follow the passersby who are probably wondering
why we're standing here.

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