she's leaning against the dumpster in
the back alley of his street, thirteen feet below
his grimy bathroom window.
they're like romeo&
juliet in this urban city,
trapped in dreams of love
and tragedy.

just yesterday, she scuffed the gum off her
converses, smiled through
his latest off-key rendition of
the backstreet boys, wishing for
a fairytale ending in her
metallic, overdue city.

it is love, she tells herself,
when he walks past her and they
touch shoulders. he gives her a stranger's
apology and smiles kindly.

hey, have we met before?
(maybe in a different lifetime.)

but such classics are engraved forever.