Updated: 2 hours ago
Before the Charles—
building lights drift from your eyes:
faces are all dark.
She wants me to look
at her. I peel the sun: a
cat laps up her blush.
Port Authority:
while I piss, you wait for me;
rust buses drive out.
Cicadas above;
the brushing leaves of my mind:
forgetting to eat.
She brings me tea while
magpies hop upon the sill;
Arthur’s Seat looks down.
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