Dinner for Two
at Sunday school
every time you take a bite.
of your fork and knife, sparks
brighter than the Hagia Sophia
in the midday light. Coddle me
between your teeth, slow
roasted sacrilege, before the service
ends and we’re seen
in Constantine’s streets, until
from your cigarette.
Jessica Guzman lives in Tampa and sells cameras at an electronics store. Her work is forthcoming in SHAMPOO.
brushed off like the ashes flying
from the electricity
I flutter on the wings of calves