wrapped in ivy sheets
and the silence offered by
quarter til five in the morning

i hear you rise from a bed
on the other side of the city

you’re barefoot
tighty whitey clad
staring at a phone and a computer
looking for me

both of us too stubborn to relent

jesus we’re irish
with our nun chucks

hating how much we love each other

with guilded age enthusiasm

we attended the world’s fair together
in 1893

forget my indian girl hair
falling over your face

and
i’ll forget the way
you sang to me