must be the scent of rain on asphalt
or else she would not have considered
other vertebrae back-roads on which
to dispense her longings

ii.
you left on my bed
the shape of an arpeggio poised over piano keys
the shadow of a dream which engulfed you
as a storm-cloud’s lips curl over
mountain-range teeth

iii.
(i know the games silence plays on old souls.)

my mother’s friend named her parrot prettybird
& probably
thought herself quite clever for doing so

iv.
sunset leaves me in
disintegrated feeling
my skeleton is a tilted rainstick:
a rush through my pelvis
eases with faltering echoes

v.
conversation used to rebound
across champagne glass edges to the
stinging trajectory of your mouth
through the night
melodies would carve their course in drunken stagger
i watched your neck loosen over
your violincello stomach

(i once met three girls at a party & their
hair stood out to me the most.)