I want to be your girl,
So you can slip your hand into my back pocket,
So I can slip my arms beneath your coat
When it gets cold.
You would do what you could to keep me warm.
I like the way you look; I’m melting. It’s the bass of your voice
As you speak, but right now
Lets keep still so I can concentrate
On your breath,
So I can smell yesterday’s aftershave
Beneath your five o’clock shadow,
And run my finger along that space below your shirt
And just above your jeans.
How does handsome become a lovely thing?
Pretty words bloom as I’m trying to paint
The you I can’t help but see lying next to me,
When it’s a man that I’m falling into,
It’s a grubby boy making me turn away,
Still too shy with smiling.
I want to be your girl.
Tattoo my world with your name and your mouth and mine.
You should be my guy.

Highway 1

There are shards of accidental meetings that dazzle as they do, while
Driving alone. Glass broken into pinhole lights,
A Christmas-tree-string in a late summer sun,
When winter rains flood and takes it all away,
There go my memories into some other sea.
No recording, and no withholding, and no preserving
Whatever it was haunting the road.
Rubbed out pencil scratches on lost discretions. Where I’ve been,
I don’t know.
Some sleepy-eyed Buddha of mine might mind me to drive
Neither a bit too fast or either way too slow,
Only breathe and go.
I won’t claim to be good with direction.