Queens

The steam feels good A hot wet kiss from The city It smells of dirty socks, Rotting grass and cabbage soup Overboiled Mush in your mouth Poor comfort food A blown kiss as cold as Dead lips Wriggles between folds and seams Down to the skin And penetrates Like dead fingers Into bone And my back aches As it cramps and curls Upon itself A skeletal worm Poked by cold hands My eyes, tearing, Watch the trains On the EL And see glimmers of stars Between the... Read More