I hiked up my waist     in a storm        the counter
top       hard     the pad of a first finger to Cupid’s
dumb hill         my teeth wet         the sky
sick      bent over         the countertop                  dripping
some cloud sucked          my teeth dry

                                                                                          The sky
Sometimes                   she wears a gloss


you say that some things are most lit,
most magnificent and vivid,
like, right before they have to die.