I saw you walk out of that oyster bar
Across the empty parking lot into the dark night
In a purple haze of jeans and glasses
Stilling my heart and my hands
Under the arch that gazes blind down from above.
You caught my breath
Like a page that wouldn't turn, a print that wouldn't fix
A strap that wouldn't fall.
And as the endless last call sharpens my thirst
I drank and fell deeper into a drunken nighttime
And follow.
You relinquished your smile under the canopy glass-top
And the bed linen was like waxy candles
A sleepy sloppy daydream of no color or sound
Except the rumble of the freeway across the river
And then the bulldozer dawn gave hangover eyes to the blinded.
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