Rainy night drizzle

empty sidewalk, wet

fully bloomed pink poui tree, cups of

pink flowers at the ends of branch fingers 

street light it’s side makes few flowers orange-pink

shy a yard away—the lamp and this trunk a concert of

branches coiling slow, tungsten wavelengths

sparkles the black army-green scales of

this long-tail boa of anxiety pops out a new cup, a tremble

and churn she; a brief moment, when

breath becomes silence, heart stills, in the dark

between branch and flower, a shot of yellow

eye pauses

Will he? Will he only want me for?

His past? He lashed out at me, is he lighting-gas?

Before, he; will he again? But what if?

The choke of IF.


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