We don’t fall in love: it rises through us
the way that certain music does

just when we least
needed or expected it
a part of us dips into it
by chance or mishap or fate and it seeps
through our skin
clings to her curls

wraps itself around our wrists

holds me tight around the neck

We’re victims, we say: mere vessels,
drinking the jasmine scent
of this one’s skin, the green
of another’s eyes

And whatever
harm may come we are not to blame for it:

love is a dictator
and won’t be disobeyed.
Sometimes we manage
to convince ourselves of that.

Sometimes I manage to forget that I decided not to fall in love again.

Inspired by the words of Julia Copus

that city

I left that city just after Taurus moonrise, it was so early it was still late. We sauntered out the side door; I was still shoeless and you were whistling and I laid my head on you in that cab and listened to The Temptations and felt my heart widen  and reach across my chest to let you in, my blond curls across your lap, a delicious unfolding

That city is one hot humid jazz tune, tickled my spine, made you want to drink

Dumped us at a corner to pray for a 6am taxi, had us fighting in one alley and kissing in another

Woke up lazy and wanting and reaching 

Had me dancing with a little girl who wore my bracelet around her wrist, told her in a whisper to never forget when she first heard ‘Grind’

That city stole my shoes and taught me how to suck a crawfish down right