Lounge

Another city, one spread light paint night. Lost in the lights of the lounge, giving up gravity for smaller pulls and pushes, wondering if I am anything more than the washroom sign now, stick man with the strong stance, but he’s a worse kisser than me. There are only a handful of moves, and this is the one I am doing now.

Clear words fall muddy trying to be real things. Down in the lobby women practice phrases against the walls like tennis balls like they’re girls once more. You won’t come this way again. I found a torn piece of your shirt in the gate, the blue one you threw out but I kept. Now we are just signs. Warnings and directions. I look at your mouth, your bottom lip, and wait for the waitress to bring sense.