Again & again until the river next
to where we met becomes a reliquary
for aortic insecurity. Yes. No.
All this vulnerability: on the backbench
in mosquito light, always humming at you
like a bee with foresight. Or kitchen
stiff as the striped cat bumbles another
jump & keeps trying in the habit of dudes.
The whole circus recedes into circles
of afternoons. The sink, the cat, bottleneck
of your hips. Yes. It’s all waiting here,
below a red reflection of skylights. It’s all
waiting—unsolvable, our rawhide arabesque.
Read more from Issue No. 24 or share on Facebook and Twitter.