Attention.

Apparently, if you've been hollerin'

in my ear for 5 minutes it's

insufficient for my snap n pop

attention. Crack. There, I'm

looking at your gray eyes,

hearing your sinewy yellowed

whines and nodding my

coconut furred face in recognition.

Crack, I'm gone to the dew silhouettes,

black dropped on the brown brick semicircle

structure along the lichen hued statues. Crack

my ears pull back to my harried back head

sideburns standing at attention to

crisp salutes of winter's wind:

prickled with your words' firework

bursts in the black exhaust pop

of the streets salutations; vibrant

all the while.

Crack I'm back to standing straight

from sofa slouched embroided back

pain to your eyes, to be tingled from

your cigarettes wafting with lavender

and lilac pedals out of your black hair

and silk shoulder blades

up the dark olifactor tunnels to taste. Crack.

I sheepishly grin as your softly stained

coffee teeth guffaw at my slack hung

beige jaw closing. Your words have flittered

into my oak room mind and are sitting cross-legged

waiting for tea, your eyes shine content,

and we walk back inside.