You Were

There once was more to everything. Then you were here, the new kid from Brooklyn. Fishnets and lipstick, vulgarity and grace. Then you were gone.

Rust

Rust crawled over the lattice, poked its fingers underneath the door, put its eye to the keyhole, possessed the constant stream of euthanized ants stomping their way through legions of lead paint cherubs. Rust divined the sterility of the matron saint. Divined the weakness of congealed semen clinging to pubic hair. Rust believes in rust.