Red Room
I adore being a voyeur,
Walking the streets with a friend,
Discussing stomach pains and poetry.
This hostile hugging city,
And its aching architecture,
Give me license I do not usually allow.
Curtains chase an evening breeze,
Disrobing your smooth and sanguine walls,
Evoking in me a moment of wonder and romance.
I have not felt like this in months,
Free and peeping, willing to fall into belief,
Everything around me has ceased to be.
Except for your second floor beckoning,
Orderly rows of books and crisply centered chandelier,
Giving off a light and life that I cannot stop myself from creating.
I had forgotten what this was like.
sometimesihatemycat 
This poem evokes what I myself know from wandering through the streets of Philadelphia as a young man. Reading it, I got the same feeling in my stomach that I used to back then–a feeling I would describe as “anxious possibility.” Thanks.
Thanks so much.