1.
In the crook of an alley
we listened to music
through long sessions of rain
and spooned canned sardines
into the parched lobbies of our mouths.
The past: a mausoleum
layered like an onion; in the center,
the tomb of all unmet
relations. When the moon shone,
my skin tingled in precise
places as though cupped by heated glass;
by the round vowels of your messages.