top of page

Vegas

I would be your girl 

But your last embrace faltered

As you fled for sin

 

Desert heat stroked you 

To oasis; a mirage

Siphoning virtue

 

Copper chests pressed wet

I was flotsam in their tub 

Oil skin lemon sweat 

 

Head-poison, these thoughts

Melon baller to the lobe

Left alone to sulk 

bottom of page