you are my 
cup of grey sky

you are my cup of grey
sky-- pouring
down over the uneven
sidewalk--
i wake up in the morning
on a quest to pull
back in the breath 
i lost in the cold
morning air--
how did we let it
become november?
how i get here
on this street tracing
your silhouette
in the curvature of 
each lamp post neck--
where did my spirit
go when i exhaled
so loudly that it
left me?
i fog my own
glasses--
am i a cloud in your
grey grey sky or
a kaleidoscope 
you peer through--
broken stained glass
sunset
under your feet--
i had been a green beer
bottle-- a blue  &
yellow dinner plate
dropped on the
red speckled kitchen
floor like a laugh--
a laugh of a thousand pieces--
& this sidewalk
is uneven &
prone to letting
us trip
all over 
the idea of 
each other--
this is me working
on another poem for
you--
this is me
trying to not
let myself
become a cloud
in the midst of
all this writing
about you--
i'm pouring out
i'm pouring out--
a spilled inkwell--
spirit climbing 
sleepily
up each rung 
of naked maple trees--
yes, it's november
& every single 
leaf fell
while i was busy
making you
my cup of grey sky--
maybe you can find
where my breathe
wondered off to 
on this 
cold morning--
until then put me
to your eye 
& close
the other--
here i am 
your kaleidoscope
boy-- what kind of
sunset can 
do you see through me?