Not Sidewalks

I finally decoded a poem I wrote a few weeks back while walking home drunk at midnight. Here it be.

I have begun the
walk home
If I do not make
it in 30 mins
you can assume
1: the worst
2: it is cold
3: I am magic
and there is sex
somewhere in this picture
(consenting that is)

Gazing through you, this
over applying of senses
this main boulevard is
unending to you

So when I show up
at your place @ 1am
it is not because
I am drunk
but because
we should fuck
over
and
over
and
over again
my bosom is a
reflexive muscle-
what you do with words,
so I orgasm
I re-mem-ber
more than green
red and sprinklers
I come
over cracks and in
you
so lets,
lets---------lets
and we move
beyond lights and ticking
automotive of illegal practices
will hi-def this experience
so we see only neon
in ea. other’s freckles
and lip curlings
Hand in pocket I want you Mouth in rain I want you Hallway there I want you
gazing upon
remembered fixings
repair and of the
lines that
bind us
narrow and bare and
popping
this moment
in-between
matters
and it is creeping
like blinding
matters