Apparently, if you’ve been hollerin’
in my ear for 5 minutes it’s
insufficient for my snap n pop
attention. Crack. There, I’m
looking at your gray eyes,
hearing your sinewy yellowed
whines and nodding my
coconut furred face in recognition.
Crack, I’m gone to the dew silhouettes,
black dropped on the brown brick semicircle
structure along the lichen hued statues. Crack
my ears pull back to my harried back head
sideburns standing at attention to
crisp salutes of winter’s wind:
prickled with your words’ firework
bursts in the black exhaust pop
of the streets salutations; vibrant
all the while.
Crack I’m back to standing straight
from sofa slouched embroided back
pain to your eyes, to be tingled from
your cigarettes wafting with lavender
and lilac pedals out of your black hair
and silk shoulder blades
up the dark olifactor tunnels to taste. Crack.
I sheepishly grin as your softly stained
coffee teeth guffaw at my slack hung
beige jaw closing. Your words have flittered
into my oak room mind and are sitting cross-legged
waiting for tea, your eyes shine content,
and we walk back inside.
Nate Dicken is an improv comedian, poet, philanthropist, and nice guy with great calves. For now, he lives in Athens, OH. Find him on the internet. The attached painting is a nude portrait of Nate by the fabulous Kelly Baldwin. We told you that you’d be seeing more of her!