You slipped from the city
wings curling
like the sensuous breast of a question mark.
I heard you coming;
I hear you still.
the breeze of your passage
bears the thumbprint of soul
that separates breath from
winter cracks in the wall.

Like a spadehead lapping the clock,
you,
circling,
checking your wings
like Daedelus molting
and I,
hands clasped behind head,
chewing the manna of my wasted glory-
I did not watch only your hips in descent,
but your arms like sea oats
fanning petals,
to hover only meters above my body
undulating on the swell.

Please.
You cannot smile.
You diamond-hearted fool.
Bread. I starve. Bread

I laughed like a broken wing wincing.
At least I know how.
Only for the scent of a city rose
cultivated by hand on a rooftop garden-
nothing plucked from bouquets streetside.
God, there is fury in longing!