the bar stool wobbled and you said, “i need to move to brooklyn,” at sophies (on 507 e 5th street and avenue a) – 26 (williamsburg, borough of lost boys)

*

-odds and ends-

*by someone considering a moving sale*

(frankie leone, just a man)

*

*a bottle of disappearing ink

stands in a well-lit garage

-

camel cigarette dangling from her lips

studded belt low on her hips

-

a malfunctioning compass

stands next to her

gripping her slim waist

-

the clock starts to grand mall seizure

and she begins to fade*

*

*a worn shirt with lace trim

sprayed with a bit of perfume

bears a stain almost undetectable

-

smiling through pain

also unseen by untrained eyes

-

but a dried tear on a ripped sleeve knows

studying her as they sit stoically in a dive

-

watching her leave

as they go nowhere together

on worn bar stools*

*

*a pair of ray-ban wayfarers

looks comfortable on an expensive couch

-

surrounded by the rich, famous, and hopeful

seeming to belong

-

sprawled opposite’s

a life-preserver

who knows he doesn’t

-

she breathes sex out her nostrils

sniffling disinterest out her irises

-

when this lover obstructs her view

-

right before he realizes

no one fell overboard*

*

*a cookie jar walks with raw-sugar bounce

sheen hair falling around her face

-

her eyes promising absolutely nothing

but simultaneously everything

-

in the mind of an unmade bed

in a poorly heated loft

needing a cat

-

who feels confused regret

remembering

the softness of her cheap cotton hoodie

-

during embraces she’ll forget

when her subway car bumps and grinds

-

out of his borough of lost boys

back to her island of broken promises*

*

*a tarnished tiara’s unconcerned

with perceptions of others

-

with a few coins in her stretch jean pockets

and red blood coursing through a petite body

-

a name on the guest list

looks at her awe-struck

but remains mute and paralyzed

-

postured against a graffiti covered wall

-

watching her walk away

in the afternoon sun

through mirrored shades*

*

*a garter belt gun

above legs firing heart palpitations

-

acts impure in an unimpressive vehicle

-

with an old issue of playboy

from a drawer long unopened

-

feeling a different kind of ecstasy than him

-

secure with private knowledge

she’s a sunset almost over

-

exuding silky moans

during pulls of her hair

and kisses on her neck.*

*

(enjoy what you’ve read?

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share button below.)

*

About Frankie Leone

Tries to write a version of his truth. Also a nightlife worker. Born at Beth Israel Hospital on 1st Ave between 16th and 17th St on December 15, 1984. Lives in Brooklyn. Bears a few scars, tattoos, and regrets. View all posts by Frankie Leone

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