The beauty of this evening is ethereal;
the smell of rain and citrus radiates in waves off of
the wet concrete.
There are disturbances of
headlights in the pink stained
dark; I smile
and try
to enjoy this.
I am breathing in too deeply,
trying to suck the world into
my lungs.
Your breath hits my
neck in time with my
as I admire my
shadow on the damp red
I reach behind and pull your
arms around my
You become
a tumor around my
shoulders, and my pole
thin shape of smooth lines
becomes gargantuan and awkward;
a lurid silhouette with two
My smile grows and I turn my
head; your
mouth tastes like chamomile tea
and I am glad for the stares cast at our
backs like
And the train comes and you're gone, arms empty,
empty of me, empty of this
crushed green dress.
You can still taste my
raspberry lipgloss in the corners of your
sulky pout, and you're thinking about
what might happen if
you ever see
me again.
What might happen if your hand trailed a little lower on my
back, or if your fingers just happened to unsnap
the complex, foreign lingerie...
It's midnight by the time
I stumble home, drunk on
Jesse's blush
wine and Marcella's morbid
poetry. I intentionally shatter the
Czech wine glasses someone left on the
porch to collect
rain [with the edge of my
stiletto,] tripping on the
rought iron steps to the
balcony window, falling forward onto the
ground, slicing my
face on a broken
flower pot.
blood mixes with
soil and runs in rainy streams on
the Saltillo tile.

knees turn to sand.