IN A WARM PLACE:

Beneath the beat, the hiss, the calls, a light is rising.
It’s not as cold as you’d expect to shiver. Look, a thumb raised
in passing, across the street. Love amongst the dancing skeletons
of seasons.
The front page & backs discarded on tables, puddles of cold morning
coffees – double shots of extra strong. The times, the games, the
hot & steamy, smooth & creamy distractions to look the other way or
into the light.

(K)