[Camachee]

pacing
hating
the impotent
self-destruction
of not touching
you
imagining
a dawn-lit drapery
and drowsy eyes
discovering
and wanting...

and then closed

[Kay Syrah]

and drowsy eyes
discovering
and wanting...
and then closed

commute

the lights summon
the street to reflect
a depth that worn paths
suggest but cannot offer
clearly, the routes
are numbered
and the buses appear
making choice just
the marquee of destination
and the community
of mass transport.