A new unhappiness
I came back from the Mayan Riviera
a tan, Alejandro, and nothing to tell
going to Manihi at the end of the month. Dropping flesh like it’s next to nothing, but nowhere close to that winter of misery spent curled up on a filthy bed. feeling my fingers wrap around my thighs. Or so it seems. Photographic flashes rekindle the silent comparison
while he puts a hand on the hollows of my scapulae, calling me his skeletoniki, dead-eyed and limp limbs
I feel the incipient chill in the air and Manhattan is best sighted in its autumnal finery
while my fingers twine beneath the tablecloth like restive larvae
I’m already planning to powder my nose and quietly throw up my osso bucco.
There’s time yet for more honest means, and I mean to take them one day.