year of honey

we drove through manhattan 
& there was no a single
other car in the world.
every bill board read
"tomorrow" in red. piles 
of dead horses-- their ghosts
feasting on the river.
everything dripped but especially 
windows-- each picassoed
gold on gold on gold. bee hives
flocked like angels. i took 
a spoonful of every corner.
blood buzzed & told you lies.
"i love you-- i will always
love you." what i really meant was
"i cannot eat sugar alone."
you took off you shirt
& let me trace your scars.
black berries populated the night.
every word you made 
had hand cuffs inside it. 
holding hands, we found 
every favor of "please."
please paint my nails blue
& please don't remember this
in the amber afternoon & please
land the helicopter safe.
purchasing a food cart
to sell all the honey,
we offered our fingers to birds.
ate the merchandise. a bite 
for me & a bite for you.
what is love but the parlay 
of waves against waves.
no more water. not at all.
we jumped from buildings 
just to find enough feathers
to keep talking about which one of us
is going to be famous.
i'd prefer it not be me.
the sun forgets her schedule 
& starts picking black berries.
leaves bowls of honey 
at every doorway. often
i trip over them & take the day
to watch gold take over my legs.
you are gone for a long time now
& so is the old city.
my car is a cardboard night terror.
there is a subway flooded orange.
sometimes, i spoon feed myself
a bite of feathers. fall again
like we used to. burst on the pavement
in our old banana-ready dusk.

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