Crooks shelter bridges of noses
damp & dripping embraced in condensation
Some say its endearing
others times its gross
and while we give priority to pedestrians,
deceive ourselves into happy hour
supposing our sweatshirts be separation enough
like banality, a simple choice
Do you take cream or like it black, babe?
Crooked glance bounces once on the glassy bar top
bridging the embraces
Damp eyes bring in more tips
and its pretty gross
how we think we're special
Other times its endearing
Are you feeling tipsy, boo?
We tip discriminately
like Robin Hoods
in hoodies
roam ruins of our fathers
conception condensing on our foreheads
and florescent hums stilling the hazy night mind
the path smells of the slew
We bed not under bridges,
strip off our black armor
like cotton privilege of condensed critique,
nuzzle nose back into crook
Are you sleeping, dear?
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