Scavengery

I trust my instincts now. I just kind of work backwards

or sideways, overly researching and then drawing

to the point of imagery. So much has happened but

the cities changed. Burn marks, bruises, arms in kitchens in other homes.

Illicit seeds grow left behind, little memorials

now at their windows. We didn’t tire of watching

their blue neon heat-seeking love. They guarded

for love, without it, and they loved and they did not love. 

Let me put it in reverse. The woman did not have to look

to follow concentric turquoise and blush, at twilight 

where she laid. New language, waiting for busses early

in the morning; in the pale light we were so chin up and entranced.