EG CUNNINGHAM
EG CUNNINGHAM
shelf-life erotic
my real voice sits
on my chest at night
unlatches the windows
goes running
it’s me, I said, as if
that could explain anything
citrus and intimate
keeps intimating our late
and stillborn adolescence
you asked the empty lot
to decide our name for once
it said nothing and then some
while the night hemmed
and pounded blood and
blossomed what “us” was
so we asked for a bargain
something easy
and obvious as lust
tipped our heads
swallowed what we paid
for dust
my real voice sits
on my chest at night
unlatches the windows
goes running
it’s me, I said, as if
that could explain anything
citrus and intimate
keeps intimating our late
and stillborn adolescence
you asked the empty lot
to decide our name for once
it said nothing and then some
while the night hemmed
and pounded blood and
blossomed what “us” was
so we asked for a bargain
something easy
and obvious as lust
tipped our heads
swallowed what we paid
for dust