Cigarette Box Lovers

Stuffed in that lovely little cigarette box,

Even now, you come to find me,

And still amidst Apollo’s lilac orbs,

The sun falls gray and earthly bows

For you, I sit on wintry fired nights,

With eyes on eyes of anchored velvet

Lacing, whose majesty, all wrought with simple

Splendor waits on dusted streets

where men and women gaze

And are not seen and blindness smells

Complacent as the night

On clouds of funneled admiration for each coming day.

And there I wait for us, scratching at the edge,

But always we remain frozen in the shadows

It comes as a small whimper radiating

from your forearms,

Slow, seductive

Somewhere beneath all ends your shadow dances

cherrybloomed

And dimming

There are streams of churned velvet under our feet

and we unravel

Together in lime figures

The land below us and the land above us laugh

And blur in the opal lilac fields

Here

we learn to bite and gnaw

at the corners and edges

and though the grass

pushes against our lined feet

We break through the parted clouds

And unfurl ourselves into the haze.

by Max Stein-Golenbock ‘08