Unwashed and wild, we ran under street lamps of places
unknown
Unvarnished, the raw stuff below the
grain
Light spills from groups of inky syllables on chest, collar bone,
calf
From the exhale there is rebirth, sacred sterility and latex
lives
I found a place today, not my own, but mine the
same
Saw you there counting the crows and the petals of
dead flowers
Taking the tally between lines on crumpled notebooks,
torn loose leaf
We drank gin till the sun rose, and sighed, slight and
pale against me