The Sterile Ritual of Intimacy
I stand before the mirror in a bathroom that smells of expensive
Cinderella’s Coach
The Sprint Towards a Beautiful Mistake
I am running across this crosswalk like a character in some low-budget
The Altar of Beautiful Lies
I stand here in this white shroud, looking like a saint who’
The Warmth of Wet Noses and Cold Hearts
They call this 'healing.' I call it a strategic truce
The Architecture of Loneliness and Lace
I’m standing on this rooftop, wearing a white bikini that costs
The Fresh Produce of Mutual Delusion
I am wearing my 'spontaneous joy' face—the one that
The Temperature of Temporary Belonging
They call this 'healing,' as if we are all just
The Helium Halo of Despair and Desire
I’m wearing a white dress that suggests purity, though we both
The Architecture of Loneliness and Silk
I’ve spent three years in a glass tower downtown, perfecting the
The Sterile Warmth of an Expensive Lie
I walk down this corridor of blue light, feeling like a piece
Ice Cubes and The Illusion of Peace
I’m holding this glass of iced tea like it's
The Sterile Sanctuary of Skin and Steam
My city is a concrete machine that grinds souls into fine gray
