320

cigarettes patio screaming
of course let us make some regrets
that’s tomorrow’s purpose
tell me under crossed breath
that’s two weeks ago
burn her cross on my chest pyre
stuck around sticking to the wall
against the glass mausoleum
that’s how we live well
we can apologize tomorrow
not at all -
take me to church but I’ve
been baptized or take me again
or take me again
after, stay in bed
cause we’re floating on dreams of
yesterday’s elixir and tomorrow’s bliss
I don’t get old
I don’t complain