we were lost underneath the bridge. spared
the grief and drank cheap whiskey.
old habits
die hard. you used to dance that gypsy dance,
twist your fingers in pagan arches to wave me
in. now i
pity the invitation. i wondered if she'd pray
to God as she cleaned off her skin, if she
had the same broken nails when the
landlord came in. the rain exploded
across the rooftops and pedestrians;
i was pining for a desert baptism.
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