We were in this place called The Dungeon,
sleazy tourist scam, full of old men
in baseball caps, and then us,
and some sort of opium in the air,
some electric current made the dirt floor shift.
I felt it. I wondered if you felt it.
The ache opened wide, so long stuffed full
of ponytails, baggy jeans, don't look at me.
I think you felt it, too, how the strange monster
of a city pulled the past right out of us,
and I made it all night that night.
I remembered every second.
I wanted to sit on that sidewalk forever,
at four in the morning,
on moldering newspaper in my pretty dress.
Surronded by southern sorority girls,
and you were mine, all mine,
in that heart-throbbing jungle,
that cut-throat alley,
we walked very near to the world we dreamt of.
The world I still dream of.
Always, for you, though sometimes quiet
and often hidden, I'll come if you ask.
Bless that sunken metropolis
that made me feel it again, so keenly,
if only for a blinking moment.
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