Yellow Sweater

I stood on the sea shore, caressing a canister of tea. The waves pulled the sand back towards the ocean. I could feel the urgency of it in my stomach. The rhythm was relentless, mirrored in the way the wind shook me.

Round things are only sometimes soft. 
The curves that encompass infinity are unbreakable,
as much as we pound 
and pray.  

Unbreakables fill the heart with the too sweet smell of flowers, 

Sophia is hard. 

A naked body at candlelight.
Dust under rain. 

I examine her breasts in the mirror. 
They are round and whole, 
but not soft. 

In the deep places
of my belly 

I walked through a long dirty alley with a flower pinned to my jacket. I was drunk and stumbling over broken glass, gum wrappers and the laces of my shiny shoes. It wasn’t a joyous inebriation; the stars seemed distant in the brown city light.

I went to the park to think about life. I sat under the cherry blossoms and watched them fall. The grass was an exquisite green, brighter than anything I could ever create. It was an unattainable green.

They sat in a circle smoking. I didn't smoke; I hated the smell. They were loud. They held their cigars with arrogance and careless ambition. Their hands were relaxed and their elbows were planted firmly on tables that were far from clean.