I wanted to write something,

Something about dog-spangled banners,

Coughing cats,

golden-bearded monsters

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.

 

You see,

the sofa,

we used to make love on,

doesn’t care anymore,

just like

Dog-spangled banners,

Coughing cats,

and

golden-bearded monsters.

 

Now

I found the

connection.