The steering wheel comes off in your hands...

He gives her a kind of rose that always
withers befors you can get it into water.

He separates his thoughts into
categories just after he thinks them.

Not at all pleased by what they're up to.
Understanding their politics, but still...

Lust clouds your view.

I see you through two layers
of glass door, your sound
caught in the glass before it can reach me.


Beth Baruch Joselow