Black and white he speaks as he writes she turns
the pages of the magazine but does not
read, he reads what he says to her what will
they be? Woman shoots gun, in a café
the sound of the street is louder than the
outside, he asks for sugar to see if
her breasts are sweet, he chews the sugar,
sips his coffee to leave, in a washroom
she washes her hand combs her brunette mane
while they discuss the etiquette of lies
Will his comments on her beauty get him
laid? If you add the poor girls to the rich
girls and divide by two you will not get
an average, gray does not exist. So what
is she or what will she be? Small talk inside
and muffled voices behind the door
two kisses disjoint locked libido.
Woman shoots gun. Lyrical intercourse
surrounds ears as a hand pulls a shoulder
to propose marriage. Will he and she become
them? They dance she leaves a photo booth
contained by strangers expensive breasts, three
frames of nothing, “I might dump her,” he says
a frosted window with naked bodies and giggles behind
while she sleeps his hand creeps below a sheet.
she is pregnant, he is dead. What will she be?
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