a still from “los olvidados”

come . you shimmer in any light
a candle flickering in a butt
this milk . it works wonders on you
like brass beds and silk hats

forgive my ego . it slums you . you
feigning . or hoarding nightwords or
biting on a rolled up towel . as
neon streams a thread . across you

this surface . this commodity of sex
but in between is . still . hints of you