Golden threads sink behind eyes
A marionette, diving from damp leaves
which crack my new flats on the pavement.

Now rose-freckled, I’m reminded
of spackled nails on
shoulderblades

My cheeks tight, sun-roasted,
heady from new sangria.
Your hair stings my face, swift as forgetting.

Crackling with charisma
I examine you examine her
soft-eyed and hard-hearted.

Sinking in silence
like mushed matcha coating an overpriced glass
her translucent hem spinning and spinning.