Last night, not knowing
I was a walk
and breath away, you 
spray-painted your name
on my street. Like a cat
pissing on a wall while I
was in my bedroom, writing
about the man
I'll marry.
 
Rushing to the train this morning, 
I passed it by, asweat: that 
single stroked cloud 
somehow in the shape
of your secret
sobriquet, smiling at me
and forever scratched
on the wall. You 
vandal, I turn
left and I will pass you
by every day, the paint
still fresh and always
dripping, as black
as midnight.