I want my flesh to be torn off
in a million dreams,
all of them ending
in your rescue.

I want to slowly breath
the ocean in and empty it
at your feet.

I will write all of your
hidden and unknown names
on our city scape.

I will use chalk
because it was one of our
guiding, falling-star-motifs.

Oh yes dearest,
I made it to the East
After everything, it was all you
hoped for in Hilroy,
spiral-red ink dream journal.

The world ate you up
with the rest of that day’s appetizers;

A shoeless joe soul,
another of Egyptian origin.
And someone who never really
got it together,

Never danced freely,
never got out of town.