No title

She chastised me for metaphors
And offered her body as proof
Amid heat and jackhammer noise

Who was the puppet this time
On strings made of come
And bitemark dials on skin

We lost momentum quickly
Our diaries written in silence
You the artist; me the slut

Maria sang

Maria sang
About true beginnings
Her hair was stripy with sweat

Coming back
Calling out from the haze
Where longing is fueled by cheap wine

You are late
And so am I again
These moments never truly happen

We were always out on Tuesdays

We were always out on Tuesdays
We fled from the glare
And our waters never broke

We never hesitated to lose the moment
We rode in on elephants at sunset
And conquered both sunlight and flesh

Nothing was coupled with anything
Our swansong was gossamer
But our fists were clenched