the cornices of the facades on King st
are gray with soot and mold and dust;
the citys leavings.
the traffic is an endless pull and strum.
a woman with a snake around her neck
swings along the street, her hips tightly budded
the sky peels open, parts of its white flesh showing.
the salt of the air is heaviness. a tangy flowing down
you are somewhere in the city. i wait.
your friday night kisses undelivered, your promises
delayed by the mundane failures of transportation.
all i wish is to be held and held and held.
and now comes the rain;
i wait this through, too.