spice core

I feel

The Zinfandel between my thighs

The AC on my back

The moon in Aries

Like waking you up for more

It was midsummer in Harlem, late night – after a bottle of white. I was building a collection of empties that would stress my mother, just three! and over a decent stretch of time. Either way if we’re being straight, I wasn’t drinking to appreciate the taste. One day the bottles disappeared, and that’s when I realized the woman I rented from was visiting my room in my absence. It put the last few calls with my mother in context. Other than being surveilled, my core memories of that room surround white sheets. They were always cold and they kept me up at night.