ribcage. heart.

The homeless man is dancing

pulling a mouthful from his dark and stormy,

black, plastic bag

The couple next to me are laughing,

her nails, painted, red

I can feel the sex between them, 

yet unspent, 

like the roll of twenties I didn't know I had.

And the A train rolls me home, 

swaying like some lady beneath the moon,

drunk, on cheap red wine and the heady scent of a

rich man's sweet perfume.

I have seen more faces in this day,

strangers more than friends, 

than I have seen in one whole month, 

in the life I used to live

But no matter how I try to hide, 

or blend in with the walls, 

inside my ribcage heart is a voice

so strong it calls;

Like the deep shadow of night against the morning, 

or the familiar reaching of a hand

like the love in homemade stitches

and the deep and gentle kiss of a good man

it calls me deep inside

the dreams 

yet unmet, 

and love,

 yet unplanned.