Hand over hand, day climbed into night -
our noses bloodied -
our eyes bright with the glare
of neon signs.

Empty laughter escapes from the lips
of a woman, like little
drips
from a gutter.
Gutter hands, gutter voices.  Is this
our Renaissance,
sealed with a kiss?

On and on the world turns,
and in her hand a cigarette burns.

Breathing in humidity and
a thousand evaporations:
alcohol and enmity
and sensual sidelong glances.

“I had the taste of blood and chocolate in my mouth, the one as hateful as the other.”