Shibuya Night
Let's hunt umbrellas like white-hot ghosts on slick chrome streets—

Let's eat light
until our bones are neon

and our eyes glow like the light off our cell phones,

our faces
disjointed
in clumsy shadow.

Let's run faster than the chasing traffic,

faster than the cackles caught at the back of our throats,

faster than the slanting eyes of the old men
who ogle and limp from the café street corners
to partake in our quick glances,

the slant of our words quixotic
and foreign,

we speak in abbreviation,

we speak in nuances.

I will always be able to read your mind.