My Love, Meet Me In Manhattan!

~ a love poem for dreamers ~

Image on pixabay by stux

Meet me in a forest, even

if it’s a concrete jungle —

We’ll make love on a

heating grate amidst

yellowing newsprint,

rolling and arching, cover

rawness with tired maple

branches of winter,

wise leaves of summer.

Meet me

in a jungle of concrete;

Let’s sigh together as

snowflakes erase

themselves

in asphalt pits,

like magnolia petals

sinking in blue-black ink.

Mistily, past ecstasied eyelashes,

twinkling tenement lights

become Orion and Andromeda

scattering embers from

a vaulted purple sky

into our souls…

Like a desolate

immaterial Prophet,

A homeless veteran spears

us with a dilated stare.

in his wounds sunsets

have rubbed