Rehab

her deep contralto blue-eyed neosoul Caravaggio shadowy spot lit black & charcoals as Dexter Gordon's ivory tinted unfiltered lucky strike smoky exhale rolls into the electrically stagnant---sticky humid Harlem night dancehall speakeasy atmosphere

why I'm magnetized to flawed women, why it's reciprocated, & why we go dancing directly for the only Mariana trench like fiery fissure ---I'll never know

it's not the titties or tattoos but the tormented eyes---the crucifying ameliorating rack of her voice, like we're instantly in tune---discovering pleasure in each other's purgatory

I'm drawn in by the tractor beam of crack beasts, in the absence of light, alone in the twisted soupy fog---onyx crawling in the clay-craft subterranean sewer the spillway pipe labyrinth of a daydream with a gnostically knowing solitary glance that--- I can save her--- ---because I can't save myself