the whites of her eyes are old masking tape.
the rest of the world is likewise

my
teeth     are grinding like wet bark on the
  car door.
leaving behind
paint          to mark off where we've
been.
and to show, in a more general sense, that we existed
     at      all

i see her dying   along with the others

yet
her lips are shining like rug-burn

and
there is something left to be extracted


we imagine my head against her *******
the new milk ruining her blouse for the evening

marbled agaisnt the grey sky