He is granite and the sludge of rum,
gutter slums and gums;
gun metal slush
crenellated into castle walls.
She smirks, smokes his fury like a cigarette
smog collapsing in like lungs
coils into chain link.
We tangle, uselessly, brokenly;
a queen of hearts and her sorry twin
twined into creaking metaphor.
I—torn from ruddy throats,
raw and blinking cleanly—