inverted prism drops
shake loose
from
your
lens-curved glare//like
waylaid promises in an urban legendary
night
as
painted toes curl around their harpy-perch home.
as too, rests :
the
spit on your cheek and the
gun-metal.grey in my
hair
like cisterns without a
roof .
like the unnamed clouds
behind constellations .
like a fool’s alchemic
love .