the snow is coming. "I am good
at the sex," he says happy, puzzled,
and we wish him well. "as you would a friendly dog," she says.
I almost yet don't
know what she means. the moon
delicious over College Street, the city nearly beautiful,
as are we all. if he keeps trying,
we say, if she goes to the counselor or either
stops flaneuring about. because
being good at the sex just is never
good enough, or enough, or
"you know what I mean," she says, and I wish I did. I wish
he did. even if we're all hoping for the best
in winter's tart beginning.
words for April
9 hours ago