Slivers by A.g. Synclair


I will drink gin with her in the afternoon
whiskey with unfamiliar labels

I will love her
the way a woman should be loved

without damage
like sunrise.

My face will greet her hands like a friend
like a lost dog or the crush of winter

You see, like Chinaski,
or Portnoy, I'm a lit fuse

one day my spark
will burn those little annoyances

right off the tips
of your fingers.

Like that bald elephant
disguised as a cop

like the missing tooth
of August

like a shadow
always two steps behind

I can see through the gray
through the falls

through the mottled
past that allows you in

and I will use mottled in a poem
this poem

because it fits you
like skin.


a black line

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