tentative title: Harboring Guilt
Sea glass thoughts
Follow me here
I describe the taste
Of tequila
And you laugh along
It is the taxi driver
Who tell us to
Keep our hands to ourselves
In his native language
Which is neither of ours
And my red lipstick
Warm in my pocket
It is the smooth whiskey
And the salt dried
on our hands
And the way we look up
At the same time to see
L’Arc de Triumph
It is the sound of Spanish
In a dizzied mind
And the heat
Of the radiator
Which refuses off
That reminds me
How far I am from home
And how close I am
To being convinced
That you mean what you say
Despite the ocean
Of shaky hands
And cigarette kisses
That are lost
all at once
In between these sheets
Before you call me a car
and I pull each heel on
blindly
At 4 pm the next day.
