Maybe a Tuesday morning here
sipping coffee in your Jughead Jones hat
or a Sunday night there
reading case law on top of the dryer.
I sketched you in with whatever I could….
a crushed package of Drum lying atop leopard print gloves
the neat row of nail polish in the refrigerator door
the terse phone calls with a mother in Florida
the boyfriend in a Cars cover band who would disappear
behind your bedroom door after midnight
and watch soap operas after you left for work.
The sharp bite of your sardonic laugh
when I confessed to sleeping on the porch
one wrinkled night.
I squirreled each little clue
to your quiet luscious mystery
like a matchbook from a fancy restaurant.
-Text by SM Simões