Aisling Towl
My hunger needs its own hotel room
Laid up in corporate drag
Mostly it’s enough just to know he wants it
Dripping meat sauce, pinstripe lapped.
On the fast train to Milan
We translate near misses
Requisite ambiguity hangs between
Our limbic speculation, near professed.
Colleagues had warned
That these conferences were hotbeds
Not to lay out of contract
You don’t have to finish what’s on your plate.
Renaissance giants crowd skyline
Oily fingerprints on their necks
Our borders loom, unspoiled
We linger one more hour, to digest.