Colombo looks like a bride tonight;
born in the morning,
heart racing, jewels burning;
here for tomorrow,
sweet, gratifying—like fresh milk rolling down your throat.
Colombo looks like a bride tonight,
whose girlhood dreams were subject to the earth’s gravitational pull
—a practical brown, boxy and tied down.
A girl whose thoughts were borrowed from the eight-thirty show.
but perfectly nice and with a secret alleyway between her breasts.
She’ll cry on her wedding night.
Colombo looks like a bride tonight
—a woman who knows better than to question happiness.
She knows that the moment joy touches your fingers
is when you hear that distant thunder.
Her best secrets—like dirty, old men—
left homeless, roaming loose and unloved
like cheap asbestos roofs quietly disintegrating
poison-proofing hearts that sleep underneath them.
Colombo looks like a bride tonight.
A woman cut open and left awake at 2am
as the lonely train runs down Marine drive,
for nothing—driving no one.
Colombo looks like a bride tonight-
lovely, pious, shiny and alone,
because it’s a long weekend and
everyone left for home
—never more empty and never more beautiful.