spilled wine

wait until the sun goes down
let’s hope the summer humidity
passes away in the dark
starved of light
a bead of sweat crawls
along your brow
the Queensboro Bridge gargles overhead
today’s migration is another stampede
have you heard hyenas in the night before?
or locked eyes with he who double-deals:
there’s something aggressive in a voice
that compels arms to cross,
when they see her
alive in the gossamer gloss of sweat
all men tug at their neckties at once
inside the ice sculpture melts unnoticed
this man here’s a champagne coat rack
who laughs politely when appropriate
I describe the divine as disgusting
to compensate for personal failure


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