You don’t know her.
She doesn’t know you.
Maybe she will never know you.
Your forehead scrapes
the underside of her spine.
You spread her
hips, squint into a light
you have no nerves for.
Through dust
on the window a fly crawls,
etches the state of Texas on the glass,
buzzes to the wall above her
shoulder, where she sits
as stiff as a wire monkey.
You cling
to her. You dream
she pulls away
from your fingers.
