her lips curl
the way jungle leaves fold.
hungry for water

parted perfectly to dragg each drop.downwards towards the stems
and dark substrate.

you may think they get enough. the way the rains come
the way the soil gets soaked each time.
yet, glossy plastic sheets everready
for more, present to it.
putting the wet spoon back into the sugar, irreverent to anyone else.

at least. thats the way it looks in the old nat geo magazines i remember holding up to my face.a long time ago.

.

//you've got to stay active.
she says, with eyes deeper than my own bronchitis voice .
shadowy in the way she stirs her cup
stepping over ice cubes with careful tiptoes of her
                                                           w r i s t.


she, there
[like light raking across the sides of pictureframes along the
hallway]
the edge of her jawline drips into my __ mug

steeped into dark


truth is i don't drink much coffee

self preservation
is an afterthought.
,talk about faces like you talk about an unexpected weather pattern.
it's really clearing up (now)

on the street where this  summer's hippest martyrs rot away
the sidewalks question their sexualities as the sun burns them into
flat .  s l i c e s .   on phonescreens   
//words are my pocketknife in your hand-like a fool trying too hard at someone else's party.
[] as you slide across the polyurethane
holding brand-new hostages at your waist_ trimming them down to swimsuit-season size
                       and style.  
   the air quakes though the [youth like bent corners, ruining photos in ] old magazines .
shivering at the lakeside in full attire
i tank
,having enough of it.


we are seizing_
a
day
    other than this
//

found by an ex roommate of a girlfriend in jewish brooklyn . transplanted from one major american city to the next .
someone else's divorce
slowly replacing someone else's family home.
i move in finally as she moves out in  l a y e r s ,  taking last her cat.

the squeaky floorboards still sound like her.

what do you hear Chavala.
laying hear in the morning, sick.
you find reason to peak up and think
sounds have stirred you and i.
where as before we had slumbered

the instant she opened the front door   .   it hit me.
i was about to blurt out the usual, dont let Chava out
i swallowed the words
Chava was behind me in the car that had just began to pull away.
inside, there was no cat.

later i found myself, conscious of my own lap in a way that knew it was empty.

[the corners of my eyes deceive me around the passing of each threshold ]