you taste like a bachelor apartment, i say
one with smoke-stained yellow walls
in a big city i want to travel to
these are not secrets, these
are sticks of dynamite and i've got
one hand on the light, ready to
run
you play with the serious words the
way a cat plays with a living meal. will
you leave the vestiges of me on my
mother's doorstep, bits of my hair
still clinging to your mouth?
i went to a thrift store today, i say. my
heart is still on your bed, bleeding
out. staining the mattress blue. "i found
shoes, but they didn't fit."
"no?"
"no. almost.
"it was really close."