If you put itching powder under someone's tongue, the secrets begin to bounce out, and hit the ground like rain. Last night the truths that declared themselves from within you were so abundant they tipped, and tapped a beat I could have danced all night to. With one stove-top red umbrella I'd be Gene Kelly, stretching my vocal cords to the very tops of this skyscraper, and that one. It hardly shocked me at all, the song that came drizzling out, I've known your heart since the motel on Nineteenth Street, where we pretended to be the things that today we are. A life void of puzzles and codes. I sat in the sink and rubbed fire-paste on my hair. You sat shirtless on the bed, staring, with eyes so timid I thought you'd melt into a puddle right there, but then with one crooked smile - you were fierce demanding this a reality, & we made love, & we made love, & we made love until street lights turned off.
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