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
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