with honey. An assault of the senses
that was abusive. Like the bruises
and bleeding tattoos on 57th. On
Friday evenings, 10:15pm. As we
held hands up the hill to the
porn arcade. There was a
couple having an argument
in front of the boarded up
hotel. Two guys, we
couldn’t tell. One of
them was really
sticking a sock up
the other one’s
clouds. All of the
teardrops in New York
evaporated and still managed
to get together, a conference,
and became a brief but torrential
rainstorm that drenched us so
that we each bit ourselves
a bloody lip.
