Last nights mascara makes my lashes stick together
Warm cool sheets fill the spaces between my fingers
My eyelids part opening the floodgates-
Que the montage of crossed legs
A dozen applications of lipstick in tiny mirrors held by a manicured hand
or in the dim light of a grafiti bathroom.
Slow blinks during conversations
when eyes meet eyes that call for eyes.
And cheeks rise
in city lights
"I dropped my bag!
Pass me that napkin please!
You're the sweetest man I've ever seen"
And there he is, unawakened by the roar of the imagery I piece together.
Should I stay or should I go?