Like a lighter loves cigarettes. Like cigarettes love lungs.
Like words love poets. Like poets love the moon. Like the moon loves the night.
Like vodka loves drunkards. Like drunkards love their misery. Like,
misery loves misfortune. Like misfortune loves surprise. Like surprise loves an audience. Like an audience loves entertainment. Like entertainment loves money. Like money loves banks.
Like Lemony Snicket loved Beatrice.
Loved her silence, foggy gaze, choppy voice—abrupt as slaps—Ivory Island, clang of anklets— dangling hanging moon, spider, stars, fish, flowers and—Moth’s pick + gift—a snake. Loved her hiss, her frown, her odd rare smile, her hair behind her ears, fairy-dust of her walk, her tucked-wing clavicles, how she always used cut-up straws—never bills—for speed smack powdered pills—her choking beauty taking off her clothes, her nauseating beauty working the pole, her sickening beauty dressless, her ass in thongs, her song, how when reading would cock her head indicates: entry elsewhere, the stones of her spine, how she sucks her lower lip in when thinking, her intensity high, her intensity, her knees poking through always second-hand ripped jeans, her secrets hidden in her spleen, her words stabbed into her skin, her sadness: tide out, tide in, her hair swimming dimensions, hair sorcery, hair elegies, the erotic of her smoking, how she ate, her pining neck, her labyrinth heart, her kisses, her misses, her foolish toy-men, amen.
Loved her morning mid-night day-break twilight evening dawn small hours brunch-time lunch-time dinner-time snack-time happy-hour-time sleep-time free-time
Loved sin-like, child-like, mad-like, bat-like, light-like, stupid-like, fuck-like, touch-like, murmur-like, laugh-like, so-like, all-like all-like all-like all like…