deep red bells

i miss you. your absolute underground wishwashes that swoosh up my bare legs under skirts onto shouldersneckcheeks even in darkest hours. even in darkest hours you kiss me and fling dancers and draggers and doers and don'ters towards doorways and yourways are all laid out raw jubilant terrible and rich. here it is mild, all the time. the subways are carpeted, seating padded. but i remember loneliness and wideeyes, your denizens willing to meet me upon the slightest hand extended. you, out of manholes and barstools and hundreds of miles of sidewalks, calling from around the next corner. i hear you, as summer begins her boil. i see your finger crooked: gold ring and dirt under the nail.