We rolled candy cigarettes
in the ATM vestibule
just down the street from silence
as cannon fire filled the night sky.

Trans-Atlantic periscopes
downed for super secret submarines
look like tiny robotic heads in the water
always shaking no.

The gobs of eyeliner
you insist makes you invisible
smear on our garments
as the "docks dog" barks at nothing.

Cadaver searching covert missions
that never end with zippered bags
keep our eyes open just wide enough
to aim at each other's mouths.

A harpooned oyster bed
floats atop the brackish water
as the pearls wait at the sea floor,
our eventual hiding place from the gods.

"Meet me there in 20?"

03/10/2014