1179

Jul 16

and your man was nauseous
but it was all the same
precision and dull teeth holding
lips and gripping soft skin

and you were all chrome
a walking waking obelisk
unsatisfied with your name
the way the mirror liked to twist

and with pursed lips
you repeated
what’s the difference
asked the night for more cover

and your man was sticky clay
holding himself to the walls
like he might collapse
unformed to the floor

and your name
your name
your name
was confetti and a parade
moving but silent down
cooling streets

here
here
here
he said
here
here
here
and the fingers were all gone

1180