by Vanessa Saunders
The light from the shades
quivers on the desk, from the sun.
The low moan
of an unidentified human, three flights
downwards. A gust
of heat rolls through the slats; a pair of eyes
blink inside the dusk, crossing the room
like a passing thought,
breaking open solid spaces.
The itch, the itch.
The wandering eye; a cocktail
of lust and unlust; love for one
and love for everyone.
‘My emotions are not
infinite.’ — the feeling breaks up.
A cough; somebody cries out
from the window of a passing truck.
A collar is pulled, a button popped
outward from a sleeved finger; the light catches
You rolled up your sleeve.
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