Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Forty-one
Summer 2016
Simon Perchik

You show up late as usual
need more darkness
though you wait

the way each star
smells from dirt
and her eyelids

-the mouth you return to
is already weeds
worn down by the silence

that’s lost its balance
can’t escape
and won’t let go

-some nights
further than others
smaller and smaller.

About Simon Perchik

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