Smoothed by the grace of your thumbs
on my temple -
like a thimble to a sharpened needle
curving about the wandering dark silk.

King West vendours and spinning sugars
left untraced.
Woven into cracks of heated chemicals and gun smoke -
summer is not walking the plank,
only splinters.
Chilled Apothic California reds,
and sweet almond tarts.

I took you for a working fool,
only to find you
a soothing villain.