Six weeks since I’ve seen her face
I’ve just put a cigarette out in a glass of juice
I told him it was an accident, but he’s trying too hard
and my coffee tastes like a bad idea
The girls I dream about are all named Zoe
and they no longer have faces.
They were stolen and buried by nameless pirates
but I stole the map
The waitress is a victim of her own beauty
I won’t make a pass,
but I do ask for matches
so I can watch her bend over.
Any guilt evaporates in an exhalation
of blue smoke on a fork full of confidently yellow eggs
they taste better this way, I’ve been assured
That girl in the booth doesn’t look like much
She’s kinetically beautiful
break your heart with a blink
I saw her smile once, on my way to the bathroom
Got lost for days, found my way back of course
but haven’t been the same
An old man tells war stories to a slice of cherry pie
An en-tra- pa-nure yells at Germany through a cell phone filled with bubble gum
In the corner a single mother reads a Modest Proposal to a group of small children
and all the cream and sugar in the world can’t make this coffee less tasteless than a shot gun wedding between cousins.
A newly lit cigarette between my lips
I wonder how it got there
I’d go home but I’m afraid to sleep
the pirates are close to finding me out
and I like the girls better without faces