Plum lips & eyes as delicious
as cotton candy hair in a bun.
The hotdog holding her doesn’t get it,
thinks it means something it doesn’t.
Stuttering in static, electrons hiss
the background noise of the big bang,
original sin made virtual.
Cradled in slick confusion, she and he,
or he and she, or simply no one
or nothing, a carnival of color,
a black hole becoming invisible.
“I can’t see your face.” Fade to mute.