8.10.17

“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.