as i write about Modernism
this coffee is bitter.

next to me in this sweltering lab
Eun writes in Italian—

she knows shit about opera
but she's getting a paper out of shit.

Brett stares at me from the cover
of The Sun Also Rises

she's a flapper; under her hatbrim
her eyes shift slowly to my cock.

Eun ignores me
because she's a real woman.

it's Wednesday (now Thursday)
and the wind outside is brutal.

Eun can't find the right word
so she pounds the table—

it's ideals she's looking for.
she's writing about Catholicism

and she remembers my last name,
thinking i can be of help.

my water is warm;
my coffee is unbearably bitter.

this breath is warm;
this breath is unbearably bitter.

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