galaxy

you're probably still caressing
the porcelain throne as i write this,
but i just wanted you to know
that i was so happy to see
your warm and tender cottage,
and all the art you created
out of thin air and blood
hanging on your walls,
and all the important tiny things
that hold your beautiful body still
in the middle of the night.

i felt a great rise of delight
crackle within me
as the bottle grew empty,
and the poems were read,
and you looked at me with
your alive eyes,
so electric in their vision.

and while i wanted to stay
in that room forever
to listen to the silence
that blankets your dreams,
i felt it a more gentlemanly act
to leave you with your whiskey sickness,
so you wouldn't be
so embarrassed upon waking
at finding me
dozing in your bed,
Bukowski sleeping
right beside.

when you wake in the morning
and find this waiting
know that
the 3am Toronto streets
were brighter than they'd ever been,
for the smile you gave me
shines like
the heart of a galaxy.