Subway Scratch - My Notepad In The Train

I can’t look up when you do. 

(I don’t even try)

“I’m sorry.”


The required response:

“In what dimension,

In what plane of existence,

In what sort of after life,”

Does my body stay buoyant

without you?

I’ll think it first, and say it last.


He knows things.

Like Brooklyn blocks,

Every place we ever made love

And why.

“Open secrets” opening in my areas

Of weakened skin.

The best roads to take home.


Don’t think about all those hours driving,

The hope filled the gas tank,

The crashed car collateral

And almost dying with shoulders touched. 


Maybe the problem lies that

He doesn’t like the lies

Like I do.