in the evening

it's time for you to go
I'm torn, listening to these stories
and writing about how I'll miss your
plastic stirrers and
double goodbyes

and there's people all around me
taking care of things
I feel lighter
since I met you
and today was all full of
deja vu
souveniers and snapshots
bruised feet and
avocados
like I'd never seen them before

coffeeshops are the oddest places
less than two bucks earns you
one of their spaces
homeless men
ivy league thinkers
lost souls
teenagers
and I am all of these...

in depriving I hope to find
so many new indulgencies
as much music
as I can hear
as many books
as I can read
as many shows
as I can see
but no new clothes
unless I scour for them first

I want you here forever
part of the time
the same way I want to see the beach
and the city
from the same spot
in my living room

I'm writing in the wrong book again. and since I'm mid-tour, since it's all the journey, since I change notebooks like underwear, maybe I should just stay here... leave until thursday, only to return? no, the seat is already warm, and I'm not leaving...

the book, it loves me. I can smell the lotion on my body now, mingling with espresso, candles and my raspberry tea. my horoscope gave good hopes for the coffin I'd wind up in to come from the tree that gets planted today and grows for a hundred more years.