we danced, to mimic our shadows
twinned
       and then she asks me to
climb out the cab,
     which i do,
                climb into the bushes
and drink myself to a knockout,
because all i asked for
what was a cup of coffee...
               good, luck,
                                                  *****.
i can't sit all pretty
    pretending you're
the ******* helen of troy!
                n'est-ce pas?
                  oh, look, the french look
to the hyphen, and the hell-from-above
comma...
                      h'ardly the required
application of a surd:
                     ch'oice....
                             'unger....
                     when all laughter:
died...
                           the rabbi,
and the vowel-catcher...
         sorry,
                          a grievance
                                    of crafting a habit.