1MS (to put my face on your face)

inside inside inside inside
mascara flowing down pine trees
shedding needle and dimes
nickels and crimes at the same time
osmium nighttime
snow lights drenched black
captured and entangled
by the insurmountable and vague
ambivalence of the white noise.

in the distance there is a siren,
syrup pulling through the eardrum
heated with bleach and melancholy.

Simone Simone Simone Simone
heavy canvas bags of wine
crass and undelivered graciousness
fading and fast and fast and fading
slowly creeping
downwards and upwards
over your aged face.

With a haircut
similar to your son's;
"I don't know you're a lesbian."

Presently, had you been there,
seen me dressed
the way I
was.
You might have let me.