And are you thinking of me while you pace the streets of a city whose sidewalks have memorized the atonal rhythm of my footsteps? Surely you walked through the spaces I have hollowed out from air and left behind in anticipation of you. Throughout the years I have lightened the forlorn dimness of many alleys by leaving behind single-stemmed red roses -- has your shoulder been tapped by their perfume? Has my scent threaded itself yet through the circles wind-drawn by the ink of your curly hair? Once, we stood unknowingly in the same room of this city with numerous rooms -- have you entered its space again without knowing (until now) why you always look at each face?
There, now. When you turn this corner and feel Baudelaire's "infinite expanse" at the sight of a sky thinned by two parallel skyscrapers, do you think of me latching a star on a gold chain so that its shimmer will lower your eyes to my breasts?
In this city replete with paintings who have witnessed us both fail repeatedly to see each other, are you thinking of me while you and I have yet to know you and I? And when we finally meet, will you see me as familiar? Of course you will. And not just for mirroring the color of each other's eyes. When we finally meet, why will you see me as familiar?
from Menage A Trois With the 21st Century (xPress(ed), 2004)