Without a Key

Here is where I come to catch you.  Mouth beating like a drum.  I go to see the ships and they are still sailing like ships.  A girl in a bright red vest stand with legs spread, looking like a hunter.  I guess this is where I say I regret it.  I regret it. Now is not the time to go finger grabbing for my phone that chirps like a bird.  I won’t have it.  Now is not the time to remember.  Anything.  Every day I pass that restaurant with the sign on the corner; a noun and a verb.  Prime-Rib: Excellent!  Chicken Pot Pie: Delicious!  Why must the same people get on the same train with me?  Their heads bob in front.  They have only changed their scarves, their underwear.

Here is where I come to catch you.  Orange neon sweat vest, shoes running.  That hair that never falls right.  I want to check your body for bites, pull your little toes.  I want to have access again.  To the sheets that touch us in thousand fiber touches, to the apartment that feels like a hotel.  Closed and safe from anyone without a key.

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