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Ode to San Francisco

6 a.m. & I am in bed.

There are indistinct voices across my balcony. The window & blinds are closed.

9 a.m. & I am in bed.

We looked inseparable a night ago.

"No passengers" but we defied the rules. Rode past the cops with no helmets.

My arms around your torso & a ride around the bay with my hair in both our faces.

I can’t remember the last time I laughed that much.

I can’t remember the last time I trusted someone with my limbs.

I should’ve kept a memory.

Should’ve taken a photo, your smile, a rock from the ground. Anything.


I am beginning to doubt if you love me

or if you wait to hurt me

& see how it looks in poetry.



Scooters on the Embarcadero

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