Preening

Pops and whistles through gaps
we string together and brace
against apple cores and raps
from life to cheek and face

Receding to a lighthouse
of glowing, shiny shock
that is anxious in the sun now;
a sundial: a natural clock

Filtered black, we drip and drip
waiting for sips and blows of love
topped to the brim; instant and ripped
we shake, asserting: “it’s not enough.”

Leathery, empty and winded
by the boots of unwrinkled greed.
“How can this be rescinded?”
We wonder, frown and plead.

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