Wherein I Describe The Walls Of
An Abandoned Warehouse

(a love poem)

Gray on blue, rusty,
the slight angle already creeping in,

rain on the tin
different from the rain

on the deteriorating asphalt,
dented, each dent

having its own history
which we can not know,

each dent figuring in the destruction
of energy, which even now

still flows through the building
no matter how minute,

yet it affects this poem,
it becomes part of it,

I am unable to stop it
from making the jump

from the warehouse to my mind
and now it has made

its way to your mind,
to your thighs.