MVO: Your eyes, round and moist like open manholes.
Your cheeks—your cheeks—smooth as a newly cemented sidewalk.
The slope of your chin, like the trajectory of trucks making a U-turn on asphalt.
Your hair, as dark as a city-wide blackout.
And your breath, warm like the fumes from a junkyard.

I long for you—I long for you—the way cab drivers long for a tip
after a traffic jam along South Superhighway.

ANN: There’s a reason beauty is compared to nature.
Toyota Land Cruiser 4-wheel drive.
Get out of the city.