gigondas

A work in progress.



After, all the lovers I've burned through


I just rubbed the back
of the Bukowski book I lent you
I smiled
and then someone sang
"hallelujah, for long shot dreams"

it was fuckin' perfect...

Before I left Portland
someone asked me about you
well
about us and
it struck me as an odd question

what us? ya know
I was just the vagabond on your love seat
wasn't I?