moving past us

the bloody turn of his moon halved arm
coos me back into the den—
a cockatoo rimmed with rice feathers,
holy black eyes
smoking rolled cigarettes
tight
in a chain with it’s lizard toes
reminding me of when i kissed you
we both
tasting stale fire,
overpriced indian food in
our teeth.
he leaves trails of himself on the wood floor
making sure not to disturb the line of air
from the oscillating fan