An apology (or, how to grow in this city)



Victoria your eyes are swollen;
your lips satchels of suggestion.
I calibrate your obsessions in my
fingertips
congratulate you on your intrigue.






if only our failures would not
subdue us, we could melt into
each other and become
unholy and celestial; impossible.
then Victoria we could cancel these
insecurities.


Oh we are so petulant and
small. if only we could grow
like towers ,
towers on the waterfront of this city -
the birds could fly between us Victoria
and at nights we could stretch to hear the sea.