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The Kissing Game

by Zeenit Jacobs


She is the mud between blood
and blood; under his fingernails,
in the crevices of his ring…

Pendulous bulbs buzzing in
a shabby room; the Man
purposely keeps a light on…

Drawing dewy-eyes under
a black cape, behind the
curtain and the closet…

His hands and fingers begin
to speak, and a trembling moth spins
softly around a capricious lamp…