Good night, you beautiful woman.
My face in the frame, replaced.
Your hallway deserves something warmer,
Blue knickers on the wall, not lighting.
My cats licks milk skillfully, her dry tongue clicking, fur flat
like a smouldering runway. Run little me, little you,
all the same from different perspectives. A relative
shift in perception electrifies an evening;
juleps on the porch, gripping the balustrade for balance
under a handicapped sky.
