r i g h t  h a n d  p o i n t i n g

 short poetry  short fiction   short...uh..art
 

 

     
  Christine Surka

Small Hours

 

 
I'm squeezing ice cubes
Between itching molars -
This one's droop-
Eyed. I saw him doused in
The party's stairwell, giving love
To a barrier;
His eyes kiss only ceiling.

 

 

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