Her pants mimic the color of love.
Her feet are comfortably crossed upon this L Train Thang. Brooklyn-Bound.
See, I found her sitting just to my upper left.
Right foot crossed by left.
Both of her hands in black jacket pockets.
Her hair.
Long.
Bold.
Blond.
Beautiful.
With facial features fond to those who sit next to her.
She is warm.
Her spirit is light like if you were listening close enough you could hear it humming by your ear drum. She's calm and as we surface at Bedford she is dry and beautiful.
Cut from an unusual part of the Brooklyn Night Life puzzle though I am not puzzled.
Just aware.
We slosh through the Williamburg streets.
Me? On my way to grace the microphone with poetry and she?
Already graciously gracing the Earth's microphone with the essence of her poetry.
Inspired I am, by the being of her.
For her movements are those of oneness.
And I have no other choice but to crown her just as I found her.
Clothed in Love.
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