Jan. 24 th , 1:18 am.
Katia Innes
Your eyes
glazed over, rolled shoulder;
how many sleepless nights did you soldier?
No sacrament to pay the rent,
no symphony to put your weary heart to rest.
We live out of shoeboxes, our laces untied.
Hands moving slowly up my thigh.
Two pennies in the dresser drawer,
long forgotten and unused.
In the cold, dead of winter
there is nothing left to bruise.