64 Thousand Dollars
I guess it was you and me.
It could have been someone else and you, but now that I am remembering,
It must of been us.
Or someone else somewhere else.
Maybe I was sleeping during the words: "My dreams are killing me".
Maybe that's what you said.
No, the first thing I heard amidst the downpour and crowd was:
"Sixty Four Thousand Dollars!?"
So when did you tell me your dreams were killing you,
Surely before our promise to tear each other in one, leaving the other
for dead, gasping and soaking into the white sheets, and abandoning
each other for our dreams.
But before all this happened, before I wiped the sweat from my
forehead onto your breast plate and well before I went back to sleep
again,
you turned to me,
Eyes a flutter with lashes and lust and said: "kiss me quick, I may forget".
I wondered first: what you had been talking about before and then more
worrying, what you might forget.
Why minutes even earlier you woke me with a tangling of legs and
questions about 64 thousand dollars when you damn well knew
I was dreaming of great rains and baseball.
The static downpour and crowd chanting everything.
It wasn't okay as I licked my lips to lick yours and all I could think was:
"because it was a lot of money back then"
But I was glad not to be talking about 64 thousand dollars anymore and
that you may forget.
"Forget. My dreams are killing me. Because it was a lot of money back then."
None of this was any good for my erection
until you pushed your body on top of mine
shadowing me from the early morning and making a glow of you.
I forgot about all money.
Which was nice because I didn't have any at the time.
Yes, I did.
Stuffed away in old suit pockets,
poured into galoshes and
underneath the floorboards rolled up and pushed into wine bottles.
There was money all over the place,
It was just a matter of weather and wardrobe and wine.
cg
