yildir

the world catches its breath between traffic lights’ red and green, the gutter sips yesterday’s rain like five am coffee and cream, the smog curls its tail round brick-dusted buildings. it is quiet on spring street. a woman drinks a syrah on the fire escape, her lipstick lingering on the styrofoam cup. a man across town wakes to find her lace tangled in his sheets. he wishes she was too. it is quiet on spring street.