Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Deja vu

It starts with a note-to-self
but quickly it twists into poetry
for you. 

Your city is like a 
canopy; overwhelming
with its
yellow lights and cigarette butts and 
these red tables
like a Parisian café

In between,
juggling my inappropriate metaphors
real life - women's rights, academia and 
taming a wild heart -
you will come to me in flashes:
your glasses titled like your smile; your 
hair, unkempt; and your opinions

You're the traveler, I am the vagabond. 
You know where you're going, I don't.

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