things melt...
by Mike Ill

i can feel the
warmth from
the glass of
ice and
rum
and the neon
reds
in the oak filled bar
and i know that
woman pouring
me drinks
like a stranger.

she wakes up
in the middle of the night
to put eye drops in her
eyes
and taps her fingers
on my neck
when she sleeps.
her breasts are
tender
and dark
in the glow of a
street lamp
through her car
parked
by a bench
overlooking all the lights
bridges
and toxins of a
city
pouring me
doubles
on a tuesday

mike ill was born in south korea. he grew up in brooklyn ny and is currently in long island doing drugs.