…over my mouth, an involuntary jolt towards your dagger-words piercing my eardrums close to the phone cut to Arizona, where you wander aimlessly on your Harley-Davidson motorbike, frozen in a time not unlike fifteen years ago cut to my crooked mind, imagining your descent into shallow desperation she’s not going to take you back, your milky words can be chopped like sugar paper cut to your garage adorned in leopard, where I once danced and now shrink away from because I hate the smell of whisky cut to the house I’ll never see again, what’s basic to you is intricate…

By Rae Meghan