rough and drafty

by FM Le


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Every morning is cruel. There is steam from his warm body revealing that I am holding glasses to ghosts, these old things bleeding me. We are two animals still and desiring salt.

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Loose magic
cigarette smoke
he devours one more woman
with his poacher's eye
and he has control of her
like wet concrete
and offers her a broken universe

there is love only between her hips
it rises and breaks, confined, inside
her ribs

I give up on his dirty hands.
They smell like salted woman meat;
she lingers in them like a goddess
she makes her morning sounds for him