half-lotus pose on a velvety vintage armchair
without arms, without shoes
because barefoot is how we like to be
heels kicked off, deskless secretary
out of place provoking stares
where we don't belong out west
these are ordinary affects,
this is how kathleen stewart scribbled out
potentials onto napkins with ink pens
and her words ran like mascara under
melting ice cubes
or so we imagine
pale faces, hazel eyes, glancing our way
and wondering if we'll glance back
yawning, arms upstretched, back arched like a cat
the silver on our ring fingers glint towards him
but it doesn't stop him from stealing a moment for a dream
and the acoustic guitar reminds him
if you can't be with the one you love,
love the one you're with
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