I wanted to write something,
Something about dog-spangled banners,
and cigarette ashes, flying under my chin.
I thought about connection,
a molecular level one.
I brought my hair in front of my eyes
as if it’s my polarized sunglasses, or a prism,
to separate the colors of the light
coming out of the florentine light bulb:
It didn’t work.
the salt on my neck
sounds entertainingly violent.
we used to make love on,
doesn’t care anymore,
I found the