Is it my tendrils of smoke, the scent of my shampoo
or my dog’s panting that rises up to the third floor apartment
of the brick building across the street
where you poke your head out of that window
to ask me if id like something to eat,
something specific, always;
pizza, a meatball sub,
or something else entirely
as when you inquire if im dirty
and would like the bath with bubbles
you’re already drawing,
would my dog like to come with me?
and I know it’s not just me.
that alleyway’s past was marked
by heavy foot traffic
before your inquiries,
and it’s not just women;
a fact that comforts me.
You are well taken care of
attired in bright sweaters,
warm and clean. And gracious
enough to always offer something
i catch you alone sometimes,
bent forward and whispering
It’s clear that you…
View original post 95 more words