The passing of sunset

I'm in a minimalist
mood--ribbons on the ground,
a cup of strong coffee,
early morning fire in my eyes.

I'm sure I saw the ribbons.
You brushed one from my shoulders,
told me I had a rip
in my black raincoat hem,
violet lipstick;

violent comes to mind
at midnight.
I said, thank you,

I don't want to bore you
with stories and stories.
I'm going to look up freedom
in the dictionary.

Then I shouted and
switched round a few stars,
acted a scene in the desert;

losing myself
in a maze of orange
suns that speak.