#31

On the lawn chairs we drink wine spritzer. Strawberries, blackberries, mint, basil, rosé. We share

a cigarette, pass it back and forth. Our clouds evaporate quickly.

Lightning bugs hover above the grass. A blinking constellation that we can touch.

The only way to catch lighting bugs is to pinch their bottoms off, you say.

No it’s not, I say.

You put your glass down and walk into the stars. My stomach knots as you head out.

Star killer, coming back with glowing dust on your fingers.

#49

The tiger lilies’ throats look so beautiful in the heat of noon. I want to slice them open. I want to

chew them hungrily.

They remind me of the woman I love. Her white neck was always begging for the same

treatment but she died before I could slit her.

They say her hair caught fire, her whole body singed. This is why she stopped sending me letters

because she is now ash. I wish she had been more thoughtful.

This is why I’m not waiting on the lilies. Beautiful things are always moving towards ugliness.

It’s just a matter of who reaches them first.

When I chewed, I swallow their seeds. Soon they will sprout, grow out my throat. Who will be

waiting with a knife for me?