Electric Ghosts

In the crowded restaurant, we eat fried capsicum and watch each other's eyes:

"Beauty is something that helps you understand the world outside of you;"

cups of tea sit in puddles of crimson oil on a black resin tabletop,
your chopsticks clatter to the floor, I remember something I know is lost.

Later, drinks, and later, thunder. Lightning forks over the city and
we don't so much "duck from doorway to doorway," but
"march through the streets," arm in arm and silent with understanding.

I am made of shared cigarettes and windowless drives, mirrors

wrapped in soft scarves, the promise of fireflies, eternally ephemeral.

You are steam on summer sidewalks, an echo in the chambers 

between my ribs, electric flash of photons and feeling.