Day Twenty-Five: ‘Tumbalalaika’

April 25, 2013

Them Coney Island mermaids can’t flash a set

of teeth as wide as yours. You warm as you strut

vibrato like a string section, resounding

in the walls of apartments too small to make a home.

You still do. I’ve the found the barkers and the balloons

of joy — they swim round the corners of your mouth.

Creation blooms inside your eyes and eases

to your cutting-board hands. I still love you,

the way you hang a laurel canyon wreath

around your hair in summer, creeping down

from foothills to city, guitar slung. I listen like

a child on a lap. The coffee place

remembers your smile and has a cup ready.

Simple as a star. Bright as the moon.

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