Nameless Man with his Hands on Her Legs

mangos
melons

maggots.

motos
moto drivers
moto driver

wrap your hands around my waist
no she will not

your picnic is dirt
maggots

no picnic with you
won't smoke your

cigarettes

so lost
(we should really go out)

i am losing.
there are no trees
no leaves,
and the city
cannot read my soul.

and the concrete space
that i have for a patio,
is so small.

and the air
that i want,
is so far from this place.

i am here because my heart was rested,
my body restless

remember me as the leaves change
imagine me
so i exist where you are.