Cheetahs, NY

some of you felt the weight of lead close down
on your tongues like an insult;
i swim on air,

smile at me when i trace your skin
with my pencil-fingers,
i can’t draw people like dreams,

they’re immaterial to my soul — relevant
to how i keep my home,
with straw-mattresses and strawberry-lips;

redder than their cold cheeks puffing
out cigars like blowjobs,
redder than my back after a friday night’s shift

they spew their charcoal spit on
women like they’re as invisible as dust,
boss says the strobe lights try to give us definition;

i think we’re as immobile as kisses,
and as dead as sex,
living in shades of purple, pink, glitter,

rhinestones or nothing at all,
the night is as sticky as the concave they come to see,
holed up in a hole

as dead as virginity.


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