I didn’t believe them when they told me that Bedford was Soho now until I saw the verdant glow of the upscale grocery store looming above the corner that exhales the smoke notes of my twenties.
The home of my liquor-soaked youth where I saw angel-headed hipsters hustling for nothing, I fucked a stranger on the bathroom floor at 4 am because I couldn’t not.
Laying on the dirt tile, all fluorescents and hand dryers, I was a ceramic queen with a crap crown but I never noticed, the way you were making me cum.
Fresh pine sheets and rose piles, your cock was a womb,
My body left that room.
Behind the bench where we became necessity, they now sell croissants for half price on Tuesdays.
The wall where I kissed her during DJ sets so her boyfriend wouldn’t find out that we had continued our lust past the night the three of us...you know...brown boys in visors now sop Splenda off formica countertops for $12 an hour.
When you told me about the heroin, I didn’t know what to do but I let you go down on me in the sound booth because it made you feel less alone.
The speakers have grown into corporate stamps,
The stage, paved with disinfected plastic, orange, bright.
Lovers and addicts traded for the American dream and coffee with cream.
I licked the blow off your teeth until I saw what 31 should never look like.