the cull by sean s

after Flask by Amanda Deutch,
Terminal Inferno by Amy Hollowell


All writing about missing.
A man on a train. A woman on fire.
A schedule derailing. The
leaves kissing monsters.

Remember
the bungalow of my eyes held the heavens,
the skies over the terminal roof
seated on the border of España and France.

Travelers' hats roll indoors from the soaked
mediterranean azure, the suntemple
swedish girl's skin,
chatter of espresso cups on glass tabletops.

Wings folded. My
table surrounds me. Coffee
in my mouth. To push you
in there, every inch, a slice of café
cake filling my mouth, liqueur
spilling down my chin, to hear as in touch
the blind chuckle in my throat's mess,
your hips caught inside
my elbows, shoulderblades arched
against a wall, the avenues from
your knees to my chest. And let's say
clothing on marble floor. A sports bra.
Glacier glasses. Ankle socks with those
grippy feet. Necklace.

I am the left ash, the avenue of
beetle-stricken trees
burning at some stranger's mercy.

All are left in time. Too
immortal for our deaths
pleasure it is we.