tonight, we could
tongue each other's wounds (if just for a moment). measure the grease in our hair. salt like motherly
precipitate
seeping out of the gamma-me .
we
look to the reflection of the ceiling fan in the window.
four moons beating each other senseless_ away from
everything.
all this
just for the right to hang there
shining dumbly for disinterested killers
of god

tonight is as we are
i can't wait to crumple to bits   ☆
                    
                                
                  .