We are strangers.
We trace lines
we stake round in the dust and dance
on this burnt land.
The sun glares on the black earth.
You write something
I cant hear you
You wave at me.
You look at me through the glasses again.
I see them glint.
I move again so
You cant see me.

That night.
Hot and full of cicadas
Cyanide in my nails and hair
we drink and laugh.
I trace lines around the table
in the wine.
I wonder what you see now.