Danny Bianco

Not allowed to say your name, made you up a new one.Fitting hair and dander, the name stayed way past your going.
In the nineties, I spotted you slipping into an Ann Arbor Main Street bank.I parallel parked so fast, the meter turned generous.
But it wasn’t the man I remembered, not you.Not the demanding son of a whore, who told you,It costs money for you to wake up, each morning.
You, epitomizing languid classical beauty,sketched in pencil on the wall over my empty bed.You are the one my blood still rushes to embrace.God forgive me, I still remember with ready, salivating hunger.