are fresh, wet beads of
pomegranate on the table.
Candied sheets of want in every slit-
every space in the city holds
you, your steel and the old tunes.
All the coins lying quiet
in the empty pool. My love is spitting and
ebbing against broad daylight.
The greatest,
the sum of my evenings, a lilac cocktail
stuck in a greased gut,
thread piercing a difficult space.
You are the white hotel lamp atop
the glass nightstand.
A blank hum wraps the room with
light, then I am asleep.

© The Iron Sister


One comment

  • You are incredibly talented, and something tells, yells that you are just as beautiful.


Submit a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s