Between headaches and heartaches, I deliberate

Between headaches and heartaches, I deliberate

between headaches and heartaches, 

i deliberate the difference 

between the beauty of                          

museums 

                 and                 

                           cities

gorgeous, vienna girls in $30,000 

turquoise sculptures

                                       or 

                                              yellow, crumpled bagels receipts from NYC

                                        the contrast between the kisses that swallowed the sun and its ultraviolet rays 

 and those which barely gave your heart tan lines 

i think about how there's a uniquely human, bittersweet smell emanating from our ability to 

 find art even in the wet clutters 

(in the sugary crumbs of love that people leave behind)

we are moved time and time again by the same pictures of cities, 

 perfume bottle shapes 

covering the crying skyline with 

neon green signs of cabarets, discos 

(..... and other capitalist replicas of the heat of love)

i could put you to sleep with my talks about the beauty in everything unintentional 

about you, 

the crystal flasks of strangers and strange nights we place in the pockets closest to our hearts 

when we still needed to figure things out and romantic moments were only incomplete 

and although i could pay a 3 $ ticket

to look at granite ceilings and baroque angels 

weeping out loud for you 

and i and 

           (all those who lost their first love )

there would be a certain pale coldness 

                                         perfumed by purple paint and loss of words  

in the lack of spontaneity, knowing everything has been placed where you would like it best

your golden framed experiences are most planned, most profitable 

                       so yes 

i can see myself calculating someone with impossible brown curls  to take the drivers seat next to me and hold my face like 

             the world will burst into fireworks 

tonight

 turn off  the air conditioner to recreate  that 38 degree excitement of  humid mistakes  of a reality where i didn't know better than believe in dandelions, forever and replace it with a world where

                                  everything drives by slowly 

         but 

between memories and renaissance beauties, 

i can't write colors and wavy lines 

 into lies