sunday madness (the still connection of a humbled past)
the summer flattened during afternoons by rain
a faint smell of the asphalt rising
sip the avocado concoction
i add milk to elevate its flavour
my feet bruised, ironically, over its lack of use
sideways, the partaking of limbs
along with the fingers i feel only
a hinting ache from which a bedside conversation
might ensue
hanging flower petals storming underneath loose
fabric
lullabies i hope to hear but its pitch too high
ecnounters jolting volts in the hundreds
place your pink-haired head softly in the cushions
my shoulders try to imitate

midnight summer air beams
while the gin pours deadly
through my mouth
eyes sparkle heavy, reticent
my movements delicate
as to avoid the penance
from which desires spring forth
i am a nun and my convent the
disastrous care of strangers
i once shared my bed with
or they once lent me theirs
pull and fasten straps
my wrists bears the wounds
that my continued dependence
on cigarettes announce
the departure of my scars
in the form of its ashes
clothes well spent
only to disperse them
nakedness, my confidence
spills like milk
any tablecloth dressing
its intended furniture
would soon embrace
my liquid shape
circus rides, a carousel
brings faint hints
of repetition and disgust