new york city: these are my words, your words

we kiss on the blue sofa
and in the mirror, there’s smoke

rain tumbles toward oblivion

its hard to bear,
so we empty ourselves out

only i catch the shadow before it shifts.

i turn, curve myself against him
i, always

our pleasures are displaced
in the morning, we’ll drink milky coffee in front of strangers

but look now, the branches shiver, they swagger,
lurching like puppets
against the monsoon afterglow.