weak and liquid, an oil spill
on a side street of fantasy
two whores in a fish market shopping spree
wine and pretzels busying hands

you're a prostitute, i'm a prostitute too
paid well, in fact, more than you
it's because i've still not broken youth
an arch in my back, a sparkle on my tooth

does my suicidal alcoholic friend
hide in the shadows of late night public transportation
and if so, will we get off at the same station
and let the sting of below-freezing weather
drive our bodies close for warmth