then, from last night.



aftertaste
i didn't stop the song in time

smelling my hand smelling like yours
i wait for your name to go off screen

you 
greco roman
a moving body of fallen stone
on the couching chair

what will you say now
that you are angry at the gods
in pain with the world


what with the light turning on
then off
what with the voices inside
and out


and what about those hands that hang on
that curve that bend that hides 
future traffic, soon enough


on lonely streets at night when the moon appears
from behind the haze, observing the stars through
the rolling sky


then, from last night.

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