Bogdan Dragos

fruit flies and eternal love

sunny day outside
streets full
of people seeking water
and cold beers

overcast day inside
the cold, irregular walls
of the basement 
in the abandoned building
The clouds are alive
and very annoying

She slaps his forehead
with a sloppy hand 
soaked in vomit

“Ouch!” he screams

And she says, “I can’t stand
these fucking 
fruit flies. Why must 
they follow everywhere we go?”

He turns around 
on the wool blanket and 
shoves away a few empty bottles
of cheap wine
and 
drops his head onto
her naked lap. “Because, baby, we’re
putrid. You and I, we’re both
dead on the inside
and out. And the fruit flies
love the smell
and taste of our bodies. Especially
when they come 
together and sweat a lot.”

His hand grabs at
her upper thigh
and the fingers 
tap playfully along the 
piano-key-like cut marks
that adorn it