it's night. you're sleeping. i can't
because we just watched capernaum
and couldn't speak afterwards
because what could we say, not just
about what happens in the film but
about film itself, about us watching
it on amazon prime, about the
winesmacked liberalese discourse
it must've generated at cannes,
about how art is inevitably commodification
but also how commodification is the only way
to communicate under capitalism.
it's nighter. you're sleepier. i still can't
so i plant a small kiss on your lips
and you swat it away as if it were a fly.
i can imagine you having one of your usual nightmares
where you're probably in a swamp
surrounded by bloodthirsty venus flytraps
holding your breath in anxiety, and then
my kiss, as it is a fly, setting them off
and snap, snap, snap, you're in.
but if my kiss is now a fly then are the flies now my kisses?
are you swarmed by my kisses in that carnivorous spitpool?
is that why, as you turn my way again, you're smiling?
~ ajay
12/5/2024
