the orange sweat machine

counting the bulbs on that strange chandelier in your living room. six. and the two of us are at the airport casting affections at each other. a giant worm flexes its back and we step onto it, ride it north toward the laundry room. when we get there, we strip naked and stick our heads in the washers then run through the street to dry them. still, it does no good, and we get back to your apartment and attack each other like vipers.