languid lean
the cool embalmning of the screen
the whisper of traffic
behind the veil
nights sequin lights
harsh and tiny
emblazoned
like glitter
sharp little shrine
reclined
on tired sheets
on shrugged off
ideals split ends
and worn heels

television
afterlife
tickling light
in tricks

the gravel park
a cigarette
drawn
in sculpted
mouth
while
clouds as
cold as a kingdom
scatter
visions

puncture
a fleeting
high
hit hard
with hunger
and vinegar
bitten like
lime
and juice
on a jawline
raw with
age