milky liquid swirls down a dry throat like a dirty sink
rough skin runs between cold hands
the sun rotting tomato plants
this summer is of bruises
as the last was of blood
hearts that quiver, creating multiple and separate beats
you talk in your sleep of secrets that you wish for me not to hear
sucking in the air in bittersweet intervals, hitting the floor slick with sweat
it's harder breathing on nights like these
