Glossy

my eyes are shut against this high-rise window seat
I can't hear the cars with them closed this way,
but I can hear how they tread the wet december
with them open

and I just know your eyes are closed
but you know I'm out here
moving along the mud with my tongue
dragging behind me
eating the words you leave out
the words you don't say
you are a devil

I hate myself for doing that
but I am so exquisite in that dead-walk
pathetic and hollow tv watcher

maybe devil,
that's why you stopped looking my way.