S

Paloma and I Admire the Neon Lights

And we are still in our 20s.
Her. With her jute little girl bag.
Me in bathroom in london with roommates with little hope.

A bear of a relationship.
The man because his voice was a malediction and the woman
and her three fairhair brady kids.
How they ** on the hotel bed. And that they needed each other.

Who puts up with all that flak.
While I spine in my la France university aquarium.
Contort. Swipe. Play.

She a cyclamen he, he a cyclamen.
I was often proud of them as some other Africas.
Reappareled and licking their hands.

He's full of prospectus of Russia.
The future heart

I nosh over duck at a place I can't afford
I'm mortified by what I can confess that has nothing to do with him.

My friends spoon food into their mouths.
With a frisson.

Shouldn't my sleeping with me glow with me? I think so.

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