i thought i’d take the train and get off at ashby,

but you told me to ride one more stop

 

downtown berkeley boy

your copper and platinum hair

ignite a small fire in my belly

 

you make me swallow sand,

or maybe it’s just the kava we’re drinking

 

i laugh to myself about the clumsiness of the way

the cuffs of your soccer sweats

meet the lip of your bedraggled high tops

to you, there is no rhyme or reason

 

all i know is the tendons in my arm ache

for the brand new familiarity of your hand in mine

 

i’m riding away from you,

on the train back to my san francisco

the loud screech of bart and the pounding of my heart

in my ears

deafen me to the possibility of anyone else