Streetcar news, not blues

Cast down eyes.
Staring into the vast everglades of the subway floor is the closest I’ve come to
I feel the form of a person sit beside me.
At least someone you and I both agree looks like you when the light from
the Stiff distillment of streetcar fall against face.
I hope that in the aftermath of shock and pleasure our legs touch
Ever so simply as though magnets,
Waiting for the pull of electricity.
I hope that we smile and the truest reverence explodes
The tension so big a puff of smoke simmers the non-present space between us.
We will forget all we ever questioned or pondered and simply meld,
Like two pools of effervescent waters and mix my salt with your fresh water imagination.
We will open our hearts as Clementine’s, peeling the orange and rouge of
flesh back, until we are exposed juices. And plucking from one another
The vitamins we need to survive.
The feel of black leather (it’s probably plastic) creating second skin til we are
The absence of humanity,
Washing our hands in the rapture of holy waters.
You flow like Sunday mass.
All “Hail Mary’s” and “Our Fathers”
You taste like the most expensive Carlo Rossi.
All blood wine and burning.
As grape escapes on tongue,
Leaving the inners of lips a purple,
So indescribable, the gods had to call it purple.
You will utter no words and speak through those chestnut eyes as you always
Saying “NOW! NOW!”
And I, I will uncloak my feet and implore you to follow and we,
We will touch, bare feet, to bare flesh, to share hearts within chest.
We will open the portal to realms unbeknownst to the outside world.
And our toes, our toes will kiss.
Ten kisses,
Ten prayers,
Ten promises,
And I, I will rise
Raise hands and cup hope and luster so bright I can only describe it as luster.
And we, we will burrow into the center of the moon so deep
Those craters will close
And fresh fruit will grow and love, love will bloom.
And you, well I’m only saying you,
Not the you that resembles some dude on a train
But you,
Will tussle your autumn hair and gyrate making grand gestures.
And kiss you so deep my indecision will fall,
Like Sunday robes,
Like Sunday clothes,
Like the tinge of doubt that files under my fingernails when you aren’t there.
And we,
Well we will indulge in the silence of the last train home and
Hope that the moon is ready for our arrival.