I've watched a video on hamsters™
that reminded me of you
between your riddles and answers,
the tired mother on the rearview mirror.

Many times do I wonder
as you opened the door
with your yellow hair
falling on shoulders
nothing to say
naked
nothing to do
as you stroked and stroked
and stroked.

"Do you love me
- like I do?"


But then again I'm also doomed
to slit my wrists under the moon:
that same old moon, already missed.

Black rickety bridges
upon bayous and flowers
Stephen King's novel, then devoured:
let's go to Albuquerque,
and count the rings
around my eyes.