In a city of casinos,
You wear sunglasses to bed.
After you crash in your
Five dollar shades,

I search our zero star room
For love notes by cokeheads.
I take a photo of you
Slouched against the headboard,

Wearing nothing but
Skimpy briefs with a cutesy pattern
That should be the flag
Of the United States of America.

We love each other,
At least for a time in this rundown
City that used to be spiffy.
I take another photo, making sure

It’s blurry so no one will
Know who you are.
Then nearly wake you
To laugh at infomercials

But lie beside you instead,
Watching your eyelids
Ripple behind the sepia lenses
You conked out in.

You dream about giant, petrified
Ostriches in this city by the water.
You dream of how we climbed their backs
After eating infinite buffets.

You have this dream about ostriches that
No one else understands except me,
Because we were the only ones riding them,
Wearing sunglasses even though it was night.