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there are street corners i know
like the wrinkles & moles on my hand
but only in photographs.
snap
and i've got those balconies
down to the flaps that neighbors let down
to shield themselves from the rain.

i'm looking at someone else's photos,
newly conceived.
it's something i indulge in
sporadic
vicarious
nostalgia.
nobody's ever going to say
they never felt that
good.

and maybe we just gotta make our own
romance
pull teeth, make way
say it over and over again
but it ain't over
till you say it's over
even then.

where were you last happiest
as yourself
and with whom?