“It feels like we’re in a
spinning gadget,” you say,
“all these planes passing over
us might not be passing at all,
maybe it’s we who are moving
across them, across the stars.”
mosquitos eat our skin by poolight
but it’s worth it, for the conversation,
for the double-admittance, first
of divergent paths, “I could
have been a whore,” and then for
access, entrance, into the soul
of another where secrets lie
like the dust of bones,
waiting to be exhumed.
Written at 12:48 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.