San Francisco

It was cold as fuck the first night and every other night after. With our arms linked, our knees knocked and our needs on high we stayed warm in the glistening orbs of light – the kind that manifest when you squint your eyes in a dirty city – alive but kind and wanting. The air smelled like salted seafood but Bronze Goddess lingered in my nostrils – tasted like Katy Perry lip stain and wove a trail through the open buttons on her blouse, settling on a place entwined around our fingers – passed the empty stares. Sometimes a chill, colder then the city night, would creep across our shoulders – we’d lose it – in the heat of song, sang from the corners of every street that’d long for a fame that bellowed for God’s hand before the world’s end. And that was just fine, those endless sighs caught in a time too short to appreciate but long enough to know my life would never be the same without her.

On the drive back home, the Universe came crashing down on the roof of the car – the moon grew too big and we rode too far trying to lose a race against the lamp lights that led us home – to a time lapsed before our eyes and caught in the shadow of the life we left behind. She shook it off though – left rubber on the asphalt – a kiss on my hand – a twitch between my legs. When I collapsed on the couch, greeted by tiny hands and missed ‘mamas’ it still felt like my back was curled against the comfort of her care and soft into a King-sized mattress. Against the stillness of familiarity the city built itself into my dreams where I keep us there. Where I love her always.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018 – for my love

San Francisco
We took this picture together from the top of Lombard Street, San Francisco.

 

The Diseased Ones

they spin like dizzy children on a school day
but without the reassuring chime
that ushers them into four solid, safe walls.
instead, tired, little things,
keep spinning
         spinning
              spinning...

until they wake up out of bounds, beyond
the Gate and behind the waist high
brick planters filled with the colors
of a burnt-brown rainbow.

I am there too.

reaching for their sweaty hands and
picking at their pockets for the chalky
white tablets that help to medicate our
              flow of Time.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

Get Over It

Just breathe.

How can I? My own oxygen
is grated shrapnel over
temples amassed
across my veins

like someone who never says
when for the parmesan cheese
except your lungs are minced spaghetti –

I can make this funny
while simultaneously
wishing I could yank open
every door to the legion of
deaths discovered on WebMD.
They harden inside my belly
like a kingdom built to house
only doomsdays –
the priests in those
tiny temples say their pity
prayers and wait to be
set on fire.

You’re ok. 

Did you know that’s
slang for ‘orl correct’?
Everything about this city
was made to crumble.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

The Waiting Room

In every dead hour
she still finds time
to love this thing.
She pulls me
by my mouth
up into the air –
forcing the night
to relinquish its hold
from my lungs
allowing me to breathe.
& she peers into
the hollow of every
broken piece –
where everything’s LED –
but the way it bleeds
across her curls &
open lips
brings to my dying heart
a wish – to live
like the light dancing
on her skin.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

The Quiet Days

a calm settles over me,
warm rays on frigid skin
soon i am bathed in amber
kissed by the sun yet
in truth an umber
dark & inviting all within
a closed splendor
there her touch removes
any trace of the battles
before her reign
and i am drenched
in a Love that seeps into
the quiet Earth
deep into the cracks
of all its mending hearts.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2017-2018 for my love.