Love Doesn’t Smell Like Lubricated Condoms Opened By A Stranger
Missed Connections in Brooklyn, NY
or
more credit card debt
in soho
Borough of Lost Boys
or a long run
from yourself
at the y
or well whiskey
on a black
black(ed out) night
or awkwardness
getting caught
staring on the train
or the bodega guy
knowing your favorite
ben and jerry’s flavor
or forgetting
there’s something else
working dawn til dusk
or desperation
to see someone else
in that reflection
love smells like
breathing deeply
alone
noiseless
ok
love smells like
spooning
with that reflection
eyes closed.
NOTE FROM THE MISSED CONNECTIONS CHIEF BOTTLE FINDER:
Lovelorn Poets will be back to our regular, brandy-new missed connections publishing schedule on Monday. I hope you’ve enjoyed our walk through the archives to re-visit some of my faves from earlier in the year. This is the first poem I published from Williamsburg poet and writer Frankie Leone. While there are other pieces of writing from him that I like a bit better, the emotional thrashing about in defining love, loneliness, and being alone seems just right for a Friday.
