I’m wearing a suit
You’re all dolled up, pink cheeks
Beneath that black dress
Capture elegance, cream

Dancing
I never said I had the money
or the decency
to take you out dancing
so beneath the
street lamps
with the prostitutes
and the dealers
in front of the old run down
Motel 8
We waltz
your ebony hair
cascading upon the both of us
and what you wash it with,
yellow birds,
that’s the main ingredient
I smell it sometimes
stronger
when you get out of
the shower
funny,
you wouldn’t think that
a scent

I’m just glad you still smile
while this pale neon light
flickers out
and we stand in the dark
listening to another
domestic dispute
somewhere on the
many
floors of our cheap apartment