Sabrina Benaim

the evening, like two kettles of boiling water, we are laughing at all the same parts.
it’s tomorrow and we are in San Francisco, finally. after a day of being hol

I live alone. Eight states and a border away from home. My cups are clean and upside down in the cupboard. I watercolor peonies instead of picking new wounds. When my tiny talk machine chirps, I do not always check it.

I bring my body,
perfect chandelier of teeth & bone,
to the altar of the bathroom sink.