7
Her lipstick was smudged, it gave her that
satiated look. Just pulling one’s sock off seemed
ambitious. The curtains did their thing. It was
tomorrow already. We secretly despised jazz.
Ohio was our reason.
She said “take any danish you want,” her flip
flops the color of mustard. O straw qualities
of summer … a kind of totalitarianism in
the bunny pen. Now a well-heeled shaman
moves through the courtyard. Tea is his locution.