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his feet waded
in the cross-stitched
undertow with a
rod and reel
beside a navy blue
and blonde haired
Tuesday.
his eyes looked
back repeatedly
without the
slightest shift
of cold shoulders.

she sat with
her robe tied,
dangling her feet
off the frame of
someone else’s bed.
she was on the phone
with withdrawal,
speaking ill of
sun poisoning,
smoking cigarettes
while a piano
played in the lobby.

it was almost midnight
when we realized
we were made of glass.