Sitting on musty carpet
dark empty bedroom
our backs against the door
you said
any kind of jazz
baby I miss new orleans
I dialed the short-wave through
the hissing crackle searching
for music we could recognize
to help us fill the empty room

Drift of faded music
stars tangled in pines
a rainforest in the north
through the open window
sleeping on the floor
wrapped in old sheets and sleeping bags
damp green sigh of unseen leaves in the
dark we touched and slept

When you sat up to light a cigarette
the sheet slid off your shoulder
I lay still watching the silhouette
of your neck and breast
and the sudden
match flame became
a cup of light in your hands
touching the edge
of your turned away face
soft from dreaming of a better place
then fierce against the smoke

some broken parts barely
holding together
finally fell apart.