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My happy place, where I forget I am …

there are clouds here from before when I drove for miles to see you play

only it was Vancouver, this south side of elongated ultra-modern apartment buildings swaying from the occasional quake after-hours, after the billing and the time stamp, the rudimentary Starbucks run, this young, lithe Asian woman of about 20 with her nondescript friend

an entire world awaits

I drive as if I’m stretched from the back passenger seat, vertigo and your cabin in the last resort on my mind

you always receive me somewhere in the middle of friend and, something more

I remember monkey lights strung from end to end of this great outdoor vantage point underneath a prism of diamond rings, waiting for you to rustle up the courage after soundcheck, and meeting me at the Irish pub style bar for Shirley Temples and wedge fries — the Colcannon is better than most

you love me here, as if I am split into these non-categorizable personalities

I could bask in your refracted spotlight forever

the Chai you recommended at Li-Mui’s warms me across the Bay, when I think of our outdoor jazz festival

I think of us often, as my clumsy fingers find the right colors to stitch in waves to wrap around your neck, your chest…

like my hair woven into the upturn of your face those times we sat watching for star-crossed lovers to appear underneath the Big Dipper

you still breathe me in on a summer morning, the winter light of dawn, alone on a rain-soaked walk in the woods, I know you do

holding my breath underneath the colonoscopy waves, I will forget and I will remember you in cobalt, black, and flashes of light

(the dreams recurred in 2008, 2012, and 2014)

Originally published at on July 14, 2017.

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