sparrows in the tall grass black fleas on a pink dog belly finger in the ring of a handgun rough thumb on my inner thigh an afternoon in Lafayette that’s gone on long enough now there’s no humid metaphor I can give you to signify the end times better than this lip kissed wet glass sweating sting of bourbon in the mist your hair my nails a breath of oleander surviving from the collar of another lover

and now every morning our body windchimes