scavenger

as I search my room for 

one clean sock,

I find artifacts of 

love’s demise…

an unwashed T-shirt

an untouched cross

a dancing crystal, 

I thought I lost.

an earmarked book

with an underlined quote

that made me remember

the dream that we wrote.

all this…

as if I’m a 

scavenger 

of failure.

then…

as I leave that room,

face the streets,

and wander,

I catch another 

eye as I walk 

the cross walk

making bets

on the chance

that Mr. Jag and Mrs. Benz

read the pamphlet

that says

I am somebody

and i have

the right of way

I catch that other eye

mid way and

wonder…

will you be 

another silly 

juvenile dream? Or,

will we (fuck) meet and 

laugh and kiss and cry and

dream together

as we (fuck) love?

(then I continued my walk…alone)