(i see you see)
a little doll on a street corner and she's

a woman hiding from the dredges of ladyhood that
found her serenity in (the
subtle art of) eye candy fuffilment.
(look at her and tell me you don't think of
standard erotic teenage fantasies:
young wet tight cunt?
I know when your mind's on a roll;
a roll right to the gutter?)

but i can see the veings stark on her thighs.
i can see trenches,
the war ravaged zones on her skin. (i can see)
all the dirty exertions that came out of the orfaces dug into this planet:
those are the things i see on you too;
those are the things you say you see in me.

how much death do you think she's seen?
how many trees reduced to carcasses for her tax return forms,
her receipts for lube,
her dilly bar wrappers?
how often do you think her long fingers (tinted with age)
feel the soil,
brush the leaves,
stroke the children's' skin,
(feeling decay in everything
because don't we all?
aren't we all just bad copies of you?
she decided to do

we've had this conversation before:
my hatred is directly proportional to your lust.

'i don't know anymore,' you said,
as I was assaulted with cigarette smoke and the
faint scent of beer-
the essence of you as of late.
you said life had given up on you and i
really tried to get you to see the light.
but you lied to me you

(coming to terms is always awkward;
you can) fuck it all:
(i don't know anymore and)
i can't feel you anymore.