Binti's international night club

the building looks like a 
square robin's egg or a ice cube
carefully cut out from the sky. 
on the corner of 46th street & market 
there's a abandoned building with 
an orange & purple sign that reads
"binti's international night club"
the parking lot in the back is 
plastic bag-ghost empty & the chain link fence 
grows prickly weeds & 
rusted braces on its teeth. we drive 
by & i tell you again about my love
for lonely buildings-- for people 
with cracked windows. for the last few months
my mom has worn glasses with one arm
missing & a lens that pops out onto
the carpet. i tell you about
the abandoned factory in kutztown that
my summer friends & i would peer in 
the windows of-- graffiti contagious--
paint migrating to our bodies. i'd wash it
off each day in the shadow so no one knew 
i was considering deserting my body too.
i wanted to pull over, step outside 
& walk up to the big blue building with you.
the door is swung open like a broken arm--
missing bricks like discarded vertebrae.
i'm always torn as to whether or not i want
to fix old buildings or break them apart more
out of mercy. there's a tree growing out of
the roof & i imagine that on the perfect night
that moon glow sneaks into the main room--
we'd lay there on the concrete-broken-glass floor--
i'd pick the beer bottle shards from your
hair & we'd sleep there while the vines &
the weeds continued to push deeper beneath 
finger nails. on the outside of the building
there's a mural that reads
"What you want is worth waiting for."
at the stop light i stepped out of the
car & into those slanted white letters.
i want a twilight to break holes in the
roofs of every place i'll ever sleep.
i want you to miss me, not terribly, but,
on occasion. 
i want held hands & robin's egg shells to
step on. 
tell me then, tired-face stone, 
how long does one wait?