Secret in Corvallis

That ceiling light
a mainstay of cheap apartments
stares at me from across
the street

It’s the bedroom light
and it’s been on now
like a memorial flame
for two weeks straight

A symbol of those
first few months
we shared
it calls up such memories
glaring through the glass
that I salivate

You lived there
years ago
in the rundown
building on Western
just across from M’s house

I’m here now
staring up at a stranger’s window
seeing us from a new perspective
projected in its empty space

Only I’m preferring a bygone view
the one of me, you and a dresser
so roughly pushed
against the windowsill

Your back against
the bare window glass
with the curtains open
three floors above the street
it’s a tumble worth the fall

These images jolt and bounce
much like the actions of lust
all raw and spirited in the making
over the reflective glass

That ceiling light
it’s always full on
with curtains half open
revealing nothing but
stark, lurid possibility

Who lives there now
Is she like you
Is she your second
coming

Maybe that’s
the wrong question
to ask at this point

Are they coupling up there
under the never ending light
in a modern love festival

He’s up there
sprawled on the floor
under the ceiling glare
She’s on a wide screen
her bits coming together
in a bright, glassy lust

They feed off
the power of electricity
until the light goes out
They never go off

It’s hours or days of slow
pounding and positioning
the text, audio and images
coursing the rift

Now I’m projecting
a lonely part of me
into the past of Secret’s
Corvallis apartment
where we laughed
and laid plans

Run amok on coffee
we bounced furniture
against walls and windows
while movie watching
the candles burning low

The rest of me is here now
jumping back through time
to our past, never future, places:

Ashland, Oregon
Portland, Oregon
A town in Japan

You and I riding bicycles
down allies to the cinema
for the fun, familiar taste
those Hollywood movies

Crashing bikes into each other
on our loosely weaved way
because we were giddy drunk
or maybe magnetically charged

It was just an accident happening
in hot city, giggle-infused real time
as we pedaled through the night

A tumble worth the fall


K. Shawn Edgar | Cyclist | Dollar-Store Poet | Cat Friend

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