Obviously it was easy to question my veracity but
there must be some truth to every tall tale.
Trying to describe you was almost psychedelic
like seeing unicorns on an astral plane.
I arrived on a hunch and you mysteriously manifested
under the laser lights, saturated in artificial blackout.
I used to speak of you in hyperboles, a fiction of royal fabrics.
Somehow I had you in my hand now, not like a text
message but more like a mahjong tile.
Maybe it was some meditative spell, maybe I’m a sorceress.
They say luck is horseshoes and no one knows why
but I know I’d throw them at a stick in the ground all day
if it meant cinching it just once and living to tell.
The night moved only in spaces crushed by colorful beads
shifting in a kaleidoscope, spun in a child’s hands.
Brooklyn was so full of flannel, it flooded
onto the streets. I never trust too much flannel
or facial hair or brown liquids with businessman names.
So then of course a taxi, let someone else navigate the refuge.
Let danger fall peripheral, let’s outcharm each other with prowess.
I said, “Take the BQE, it’s faster.”
You said, “I’m bringing sleazy back”
but I don’t think sleazy ever went anywhere.
The apartment was like a twitch in a power line
but I let it be candlelit and chandeliered.
I fed you tinctures from my personal collection.
Your blue oxen waited where I left you sleeping naked
on the couch, leather bomber jacket draped over you–
How quickly we confused mythical and mystical.
How dumb we felt when we realized our error.