The streetlights blink in the bowl below but                           

    the bus is long gone and                                                             

        I get vertigo sometimes

It’s strange how the sun will always lick the night away again

    even when the pulp starts to taste more bitter

         than it does sweet

This red wine feels like chalk on my tongue

    but I like how the pastels looks on the blackboard

         as colours churn in the heady smoke

             and ripple and purl in the dip of your chin

 

My corduroy thighs striped from the sofa

Your teeth taste of charcoal it smudges in my throat

I want it to be easy like honey but fruit

   doesn’t stay good forever

       and that citrus peel has always been acrid

So you say how things ebb and flow and go

     and I know

That now the ashtray is full of empty embers

    and (pistachio shells)

       the sun will set over the heavy horizon

           yet still my salty lips ache like the night does