Afternoon, exterior
Seven or eight or maybe nine people
You’re not one of them.
Laughter, indistinct chatter,
It’s fun, it’s lighthearted
Three, four, five o’clock
My veins are rivers of rhum
You’re not here but you haven’t gone.

And I don’t want you to, I don’t ask you to,
I like how it feels to want you,
I like feeling the fire,
I like feeling that vague ice-cold fear.

I crave you.

Rivers and rivers of rhum
And I crave you, harder
I know I do,
I know I’m doomed,
I know it feels good.

Six o’clock,
The rivers slowly dry up
They fade away,
But you don’t, you won’t.

Over black.


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About the author

Young South American writer and actress. Lover of travel, photography, the sky and the ocean.