Chit-chat with Yunus Brings up a Memory

There are so many stars printed in the sky. We climbed through little trees and brambles, up a hill to get here. I could say that this is our spot. But I know better. This spot belongs to the city, the night, to the construction workers, and the water drums. But not to us. This empty highway. Empty, abandoned, forgotten. A highway. It travels from Elmwood through Wickeden. We lie here smoking Camel Reds and staring at the stars on I-95. We walk to Wickeden and buy refreshments at the Coffee Exchange. We speak of the present and the future; only reverting to the past to amuse ourselves. We walk to the park. I lay on a bench while everyone jumps on a swing. The four boys and myself. No swings left, so I sit on the blue chair-swing. Francis, Norlan and Anthony jabber in Spanish. Steve laughs because the foreign words amuse him. It only leaves me feeling empty and left out. I tell Anthony to keep in touch. Five years from now, we can be together again, doing exactly what we do now. 

Magnets and an Ocean

Winter breast

Urging at the storm,

Crushes mist with moon shine.

Only spring shot floods

Smear over skin

Wind cries near ships

Swimming men love drunken music

Beauty robs languid heaving blows of excellence.

I am gone.

I haven't posted in a while so I thought I'd start off with a poem. 

If you can guess what it is about I will give you a free cyber hug. If not, good. 

My hope is that years later when I'm dead and famous scholars will ask their students, "What did this mean??" 

And they will have no clue. And just a hint, it's not about the ocean...