Matthew Fouts
Lacrimosa
Where are you going in your grey jacket
closed tight against your black shirt?
I am obsessed with the curve of your waist
as if I could hold it and keep you here.
Where will you go tonight with your soft heart
and your cheekbones? this night
and the next (and the next).
Where will you be when the train shakes
the windows of my house
and the hot engine of an airplane
moans across the empty sky?
