she’s been kissed in every cinema in brooklyn, but

can’t see the color of their eyes or taste those

vanilla forget-me-not touches, and where

is the maroon lipstick (gold glints off of polished metal) that

she found on the subway? she slides on the silk

dipped too low and feels almost lovely for six hours.

cigarette dangles between her lips, and

lined gray eyes watch the streets. she smiles at cars and leans her

shoulders forward,

silk clings to her curves, dipped too low or maybe it’s perspective,

and throws cherry seeds at the feet of strollers.

static on the other end, thumbprints mark her screens. they last, smudged, unlike

her. cigarette dangles between her lips. ashes glow, falling,

they crumble on the gravel.