A Modified Scene from "Breakfast at Tiffany's"

I spend my Novembers sleeping alone,

dreaming of yesterdays and weekends

on the beach, a cabin on the shore

complete with patio furniture and

 

You, pulling at my ribs in the light of a

fire at twilight, smoke rising, delicate.

 

Those were the Julys with fireflies,

glistening under the weight of

pale black imminence, vibrantly

swimming through shadows cast by

 

dangling crescent moons, like fireworks

on the horizon line, splitting space.

 

In those sultry summer dusks

I ran my fingers down your spine,

breathing nothings to the stars

between drags on my Marlboros,

 

your salty skin and sand swept hair

brushing my naked chest, softly forceful.

 

I took you to bed and thought of permanence.

I thought of how this was not that.

 

You fell asleep on my shoulder while

I gazed about that manufactured room,

thinking I would be fully content if

I could fall asleep each night with Holly.

 

Outside the waves were lapping the shore,

Fluid tides pulling us toward tomorrow.