Drained djinn, pacify Lucinder
with a cardamom-colored blanket under
and a coffee-stained pacifier.
This little chick is on fire.
But no, pusher, you push the girl.
Up and down a sliding scale
of good and evil– bird or weevil.
These wishes come true
in a puddle, a jinx of maple syrup.
The joke’s on me; we shouldn’t stir it.
We are stuck together,
because I’ve bathed us in unnatural sugar,
a forced sweetness.
Lucie, luciole lighting in the ossuary old,
our vanquished breaths still resurrect a sour
and each token of affection jaundices,
a gimcrack of pirated bone.
My worn heart, my sex,
giblets hiding under an oxblood coverlet.
We fought in the arena, a whole gig set, in halls like this,
the color of Mexican cherry–
an opal that won’t marry me.
You cover up eyes of chicory,
under lenses the color of English skies.
My own temples hide
beneath overfilled cups.
We know enough to care.