torn labels

th neighbor’s house is too fucking close;
I can hear every shout.

                                 every phone ring…

         every time she cries;

I smell bacon frying
and a wall of beer cans in th sun.

                                                 her silohette in th bathroom window,
                                                 a moisturizing ritual (mine).

        see his hairy gut over th bbq
        almost resting on th meat.

                                                                                                                            th summer scent of heart on a grill drifts through th neighborhood

                                     ( headlights drifting through my rooms,
                                          someone’s been stepping out )

I sense lust
in her swelling detest.

# posted by hardyf : 12:05