says can I kiss you.
It’s midnight there are mothy half-stars
leaning in the window. Inside of my mouth
tastes cough-drop bitter though I would
like very much to kiss her
in her horn-rimmed glasses weak as winter she slips them
off she closes her eyes
seals up the woozy blues of her eyes
and kneeling leans in closer
near me till she’s only
silver-blue hair and color and a taking
away of flat lips and for all
the rest of the night I wander through her attic swallowing cough suppressants.
I crawl into my sleeping bag at five and gape at the peach of the morning sky.