where did you come from? white spaghetti strap shirt
delicate longings to be loved
I bought you a big pineapple and carried it to your new place
where you were waiting for me—in your brown shirt
I saw the tattoo on the center of your chest: STARSEED
you spoke in an accent I didn’t fully understand
fluently
with gestures
and moans
you seemed tired of life, drinking from a can of beer—then you smoked a joint
offering me some, “no thanks”
I was interested in your philosophy
pouring out of you
that you were an artist
and it was hard to be one
and the bright light of the afternoon in Bogota thrilled you to smile
pink lips
see me later?
please call me
your
babe
and think of me
always
miss me
come sit on my bed
and forget whatever’s hurting you—and I will
too
Jai
held out her pinkie, “promise me”
“promise you what?”
“that you’re a good
guy…”
I laughed, reaching out
“promise”
“okay,” I said, “I promise”
her dark hair dangled down in front of her pale face
filled with brilliant, shining brown eyes
“you look like a puppy,” Jai said
and later at night
I saw her black bra removed
and the whirl
of all those stars
shooting
out from her
delicate, complicated
soul
I fell for Jai, right
away
and she knew it, too.
Bryan William Myers traveled to 12 countries in 2019. He spent most of the pandemic in Vietnam, writing poems, stories, plays, his first full-length screenplay, and a pilot he optioned to an app startup. He’s self-published 15 books. His first chapbook of poems, Empty Beer Cans: Quarantine Poems from Da Nang, Vietnam, was released in May 2022 by Alien Buddha Press. He’s spent the last year or so in Latin America (Puerto Rico, Ecuador, Colombia.) (Twitter: @bryanwillmyers)