I'd brush her hair behind her ear
when in my arms she sought comfort.
Once i met her wordless upon the balcony arm,
spear-straight back turned to me.
Fists raised in defiance, she beat
at the ceiling of fireworks, and cursed
the city pillars- her lost dreams still towering.
Shaking, she sprinkled salt
down the fire escapes,
shunning the celebration on the roof
for the stories I spun from the twinkling stars.
But she never took my bread in Brooklyn.
The street pigeons knew us by name
as come the dusk the benches were warmed
because we lovers
and took to our wine.
And our foot falls made plain
that we were hungry for more.
Created: Apr 10, 2010Document Media