Cocaine
Cocaine We’ll call this consumerism era love making us a dose of powder let’s plough the devil’s property until the day of the golden ring and the cloying gala with an anthem to the Blessed Virgin At the market of love —buttocks paralyzed with rubber to be desirable —whisky, gold, and assets so that you drift in my direction and you’re not short of goods in your old age You’ll open your eyes touching your husband’s back, he’ll squint touching your backbone. You’ll both load fingers and hands smelling of drool, saliva, and lies. Fruit of the devil’s property this is how you’ll sleep. Devalued currency dulling the trip, devaluated gestures ending without meaning. Two separate lines on a glass made of dreams, you think, stir and join, disengage images of your days of silence. This is how they wake up, attracted by the roll of bills that time despises and u