Hesitation and heavy breathing
like the lights of L.A. from 10,000 feet
through a commuter plane window
with condensation between the panes.
The city is living, pulsating almost,
spilling over its boundaries,
and I hesitate to catch my breath.
Where are you now?
Kissing someone else under the stars
at Jackson's Orchard?
Stumbling drunk through the streets
of Austin?
Pushing away an impatient sailor
in Monterey?
The city is still awake and so am I,
with and under a magnifying glass,
looking for you.
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