Dusk
A poem.
Dusk bitterness in the shape of a small plastic bag of catfood flooded by rainwater and now covered in maggots and bursting with decay, this punget smell of rot hitches rides on breezes that take me home to you. we sit under a sky flayed open by sunset and watch a massive cloud bleed carcass as massive cranes pivot in this humid air around the exposed ribs of buildings. brutality awakened in each concrete pour over exposed rebar, a man welds something in the far distance, and his torch is a star heralding the dusk bloom bruise of night approaching. in this dark, i see the outline of your body so supple and soft, i press my fingers against your skin and feel irritated bumps where mosquitos fed, invited by the safety of night. you tell me that things have not been going well. you tell me that you are running out of honey and cough syrup. lozenges coat the back of your throat as you tell me that you always want enough money to not worry about a thing. and i scratch at your mosquito bites in the dark without saying a word.