past midnight, a cigarette between your thumbs
slowly, the city becomes a mesh of light
owl-hoot, men coming home from dating other women
without rings on their finger. Imagine a night
normal, without expectation. Imagine as you are sitting
you hear the cry she makes as her skin is marked
with shades of the rainbow. Imagine yourself sanding up
dusting your pants of leftover ash, walking toward the door
imagine saying: not me, not my house, not my family
not real, the sound of a volcano
letting lose its lava.
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