Come to the apartment. We are so blessed here.
VeVe, un-gloved, sips from her thin glass—S*an unravels the leather backgammon,
sticks the sourdough in the oven while I who know nothing of bread keep peering in,                                                
interrupting the conversation with psychic speculation.           

              In the past, a war mongering spirit took hold of me     We still speak
              of the blood     years over the village kiln roasting livers with garlic and salt
              Felidae gut        licking butter    arms strong from grinding peppercorn
              & braiding hair.

Now it's somber fun: anytime giggling over homemade applesauce.
An ever-growing fickleness, intuit. Oolong in the hydro flask churning.          

Now I’m human crawling down the hallway on all fours crying, Lambrusco hip rolling
through small space, well-fed:   my consolation.