We've shared secrets no one else would ever want to know,
but now your brothel hair has become a nest for dead birds.
Where once you were a wet marsh,
perfumed in tangy musk,
you have now become a dry
steppe covered in rotting fish.
I'm writing acrostics of your name,
remembering you like discarded tire husks
on Arizona's August freeways.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC
We've shared secrets no one else would ever want to know,
but now your brothel hair has become a nest for dead birds.
Where once you were a wet marsh,
perfumed in tangy musk,
you have now become a dry
steppe covered in rotting fish.
I'm writing acrostics of your name,
remembering you like discarded tire husks
on Arizona's August freeways.
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