I don’t have enough
words in myself to name
all the waves your way
gives me,
fumbling
through dark
rooms of undeveloped
images repressed in
youth, unwilling to see
with honest eyes when
I move so right
in your blinding lights,
strobe and disrobe,
I don’t want to know
if it’s real or not,
don’t care much
if there’s no mutual
exchange of shotgun smoke
in rings
thickening
just like I am
imagining.
