Heaven

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Heaven


There's nothing wrong with "getting in,"

but if ours was a kinship with a ticket

at the end, like I were the bouncer

you flounced up to and flirted with,

eyes flitting always over my shoulder

into the inner room of the exclusive

night club, I would not say

I knew you, or we were friends.


And if you were a bit more savvy, 

for weeks or even years returning to ask me 

about my family, tell me the latest of 

yours, till you couldn't hide your boredom

and tried to push in past me

to receive your great reward,


I would still not stamp you as one 

of my own. For that I would need to be 

the end of your waiting, my eyes 

your flashing lights, my name in your mouth

the only cup to carry you to the dawn.


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