Do Nothing

The smoke chases the walls in fervent lisps. A stray lover scratching on her backsteps. Fattened by the sun at one moment. Bitten in half by the dark the next. Trump always goes to the coquette. No matter the hand you're holding.

The dewy tirades of convenient sex leave behind too many witnesses for any jury to overlook. There's no actual crime. But the memory is more than conviction enough.

We'd slump in the bed with jaundiced remorse. Rag dolls straining every stitch. Arguing with every the thread. As each one let a little more of what was inside out. We'd squirm in our plastic shoes. Tugging against every repair.

begging mutely to deafened gods. do nothing for me now. it's all i've ever wanted.