I would not expect to see you
on a night like this,
cars kicking up rain
like the silver dress
of a saloon girl.
The bars are closed,
warmth trails from my limbs
like water. I am breathless
at the sight of you
leaning into the crimson light
of the keno machine.
Me? Iım just eating brains
and eggs ­ theyıve been served here
for a hundred years and surprisingly
theyıre very good. Grace, I have needed
you forever. How long
have you been here? How
did I miss you?
Have I kept you waiting?
Iım sorry.
I would be honored
to have you join me,
come home with me,
breathe softly beside me,
let me cling to you.

Poetry Magazine