I can see you,
with your firey eyes and
your samurai smile
(just like in the movies)
and you’re looking this way
because you can see me
seeing you, bare teeth and
cut hair and all, squirming
in the warmer spots of sunlight
with this collared shirt unbuttoned
at the top. All we understand is
old jazz records.
We only speak in riddles to each-other
What is this open-ended hyperbole?
I can not stand to wonder, though,
when I see you seeing me, bare teeth
and cut hair and all.
(Just like in the movies)