The first time I died
We all smoked cigarettes from a pack of Luckies I unrolled out of the short sleeves of my James Dean dreams
She had all the knives in a chef's kit tattooed across her arms and shoulders
My heart, my heart of wild delight plumed and comet-crossed the night.
Guanajuato, Mexico
December 2017
The second time I died
It was summertime and we
were surviving on French kisses
The wind carried the sound
of lions and freight trains to our bedroom
Our friends were being
called to war
There were so many deaths
I barely noticed my own.
Seattle
05/2017
