“If At Any Point You’d Reconsider, Then, I’m All Ears”

(more as-of-yet-to-be-compiled poetry & prose from an old journal, circa 2010’s, NYC)

We haven’t been alive in

Some time, sometimes I

Like, to imagine your air

Filling balloons with soul

And if anything-cherry

Just to be your painting

Beneath your hands, or

Next of kin, I miss when

The streets slept, so we

Dreamt between them,

Until our eternity’s end,

I became irrelevant, then

Envious, it hurts you’re

So imperfect, if-present,

But I guess this is death,

The life of unimportance,

A kiss of breath, I confess

You and I are unblessed;

Unless, Ulysses as famous,

Forever nameless in ageless

Skin, pretend I’m existent

Without your attention, so

I depict shallowness to live,

And exist without permission,

Can somebody please, just say her

Face is purple, arms stretched for

Heaven and sunset, at-times like

This, all I want is to be your kid;

Past mine, how can you,

Be so you all the time?

This skin, behind glass

A sundance, perchance

Is that, I mean-relevant?

Still, maybe we missed 

Always running, horseracing

Chasing clouds like wind;

When you, have to-you’ll see

Meanwhile, our future keeps

Her perfect unattainability,

Still...it’s always nice to dream.

© 2022, A. M. D’Angelo