She screamed,
enjoying the thrill of escapism and mechanical whiplash.
Tear me down a stolen code,
my fingers are heavy with grease.
Welcome to my-oh-my, have we grown.
Substitute the (your/my/our) tongue with a piece of lavender,
hold the coiling and codling.
Greedy aren’t we?
Fortuitous are you not?
Headlights on a highway that curves to the left at 3 in the morning.
In the afternoon, we push all the blankets onto the floor.
Seven hours later, we bend over to retrieve them and fall asleep.
Your right hand lightly touching my lower back.
Remember a coin toss,
grasp a hurried exchange over fluid lines and tickling heartbeats.
Stand, kneel, pray, repeat.
Quarantined without an explanation.
They only left an orange glaze of a sign on the door.
That is all,
that is all.
-J, SF
The Ferocious Ones 