The city is scattered sparkles, sprinkles
of light beneath the balcony
where we drink Jamaican beer, slightly curdled
in short sips, warm and bitter.

My voice is loud and cloying and yours
is a teen-aged boy’s, bringing me back
to when everything was becoming, blooming
for both of us across the miles and months.

I don’t know you to the extent that I
don’t know anyone and I relish
my freedom as much as I know you
cherish yours. All I wanted to say was:

Your skin is so clear and your eyes dark rivers
and when I think about it my heart beats
like Thirteen, like teenaged thirst,
and I want that haphazard glitter panorama to serve as frame

And before it seep with you,
like a crazy thing into an amoebic shadow.