Epileptic light reveals everything in the glitchy darkness,
that itch of flash exposed—it is pixelated as I see it,

the sound shut off so they are glancing at each other
with silent fists and open palms, and I put on a song

where the vocalist’s voice is as scratchy as the two girls
on my screen, and I think about the uncurtained expanse

of window behind my sofa and wonder who watched
when we lay here, our faces ground into one another’s cunts

and what the light was like upon our bodies.

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