Untitled #93

You're that nicotine high 

the one that leaves me dizzy and light

as the smoke leaves my lips 

and fades off in delicate semi-transparent trails into the mid-October wind.

You're the taste of cheap wine

on Brooklyn rooftops 

staining my lips with shades of deep reds and soft purples,

landing strips for your kisses.

You're lazy Sunday mornings

spent in bed 

quietly watching the sun peer through the shades

greeting our bare skin

hidden under the sheets.

You're the long walks

down chipped, dirty pavements

with street lights illuminating the night

and city lights becoming our northern star.