Megan Eaves

november and our star
sinking pink along the edges
of an island.
east of the desert
this tumbledown town
minds my heart.

i will live out some existence
looking for sunsets
that glow corners
where you dallied
in record stores
digging for comics.
you’re a nocturn
trying to poach day
without light.

we wandered a lane, lost in the mystic
years ago
i showed my face, you your quietest places of heat
and hysterics
we huddled for awhile, fingering this found treasure

carpet store’s aflame
the street’s blushed
lamps come on
and you – somewhere north
– tucking our wealth into a jewel box.

still, the world en rose
lavender
a royal hurricane.