the grapes in the shade
outside the window
are raisins now.
the kitchen fan never stops.
my toes are numb nubs,
breaking off unto
rex porcelain tiles.
my face is stretched out
like a neck leaning,
gleaning for sunlight.
you reach across the table
where my hands lay
limp on the burgundy cloth.
the water glass
was drunk from your gaze.
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