the woman with my ring, she rang
just to say,
“Goodnight.
I know you’re working hard these days.
Everything will be
alright.”
silencing the phone insight
it’s so easy now to lie
when the
face I face is reflective screen
and I key in my reply
and so where were we? oh yeah,
that’s right: drowning in this
dive
sat on a lackluster lacquer bench
where no friendly eyes
dare pry
beneath some halos of halogen
we speak of ancient psalms
and
disemboweled mammalian forms
you know just how to turn me on
and by dim light, it’s so clear
how stranger is the problem
where
we both want the same thing
we both want to fuck
it
all up:
every picture-perfect memory
the holidays along Atlantic
coasts
the anniversary in Old San Juan
arguing who loves who the
most
they’re all picture-perfect memories
but I need something
more
a photograph to hold onto
and you god damn whore