saturated in amore [a moment of logos in the life of a wandering heart]

your three
to my one
the amber and the red

twenty five cents
and a vibrating
tilt-a-whirl

you spoke of carnivals
and dark, dusty paths that lead to
where we need to be
(to peeking behind the boards where darts come towards our hearts)

popcorn with truffle oil
meaningless meetings
and Hoffa screwing and killing upstairs

we talked about writing
and the back and forth
back and forth
of comedy and tragedy
(and how what touches our hand can stay overlong like a wedding ring)

you said,
“I did not come into this lifetime to tell the fucking truth.”
(and yet you do all the same)

saturated in amore
(kitschy kitschy goo)