sometimes I think of places, just like this one. maybe the season is off, or the business never took off, and receipts and hopes lay scattered. maybe it’s where laughter used to creep and jump, smiles and fingers slipping under soaking suits, her breath tucked under my lips.
sometimes I crave places, just like this one. maybe when my season is off, or when my love hasn’t taken off, and letters and texts lay scattered, kept alive only by a screen.
I crave it so my fangs have a place to sink, so my venom has a place to go, even if that place has long been dead, the same venom dripping on dried pools of itself.