She called our love kitsch
From the 17th floor
Williamsburg high rise
Overlooking homeless in the park
Under dressed and over exposed
Was I kidding her or just killing myself?
Fascinated by her manic beauty
As she tore apart the morning in disguise
Throwing fits of rage like I’d paper in a bin
Stripping away my senses like her past
It wasn’t as much a choice as it was survival
Leaving her lust like the vanilla
She tasted on my ghost
While laying down the underpainting
For her latest masterpiece in loss