for an after-dinner treat,
I stared at old pictures of you on my Mac.
I always loved the scars, so few and far
between on your baby soft caramel skin.
the imperfections reminded me of your humanity,
behind your seemingly airbrushed, composed face.

I ******* first months in the city;
a nauseating, fleeting sweet.

now, my tongue numb.

Unseasonable warmth
embraces my winter white skin,
inspiring me top off the island of Manhattan.

I drink in the novel Brooklyn air
and inhale 3 ****** Mary's.

Tracing my reflection in the mirror,
unsuspecting.
the ***** glowing in my veins,
illuminating my fate.

I exit the bar,
floating like a blind firefly
into your cosmic black.