Bodies collide
in minimal space,
tangled like a snake pit.
They writhe in  smoke,
                               heat,
                               caustic exhalations,
emerge with twilight memories.

Tomorrow’s plague will be
wet cigarettes,
tainted floors, and
lost IDs,
                                        best case scenario:
                                        an unknown
                                        apartment,
but tonight
the lights flash in cycles
as the playlist restarts again,
                                             a signal that
                                             every back door
                                             converges here.
So
move, use
your allure
now, exchange
quick impressions, false
phone numbers, fall
in love in 
this moment before 
dawn. You
                                       sad,
                                       misplaced,
                                       fugacious vampire
are blurry:
                                               a headache will obscure you.

A short video might survive,
but by noon
it will be deleted.
Octavio López (Comitán, Chiapas – 1995) is a music composition student at UNAM, currently living in Mexico City. He writes as a way of approaching sound and symbols other than with music.
header image: Donny Jiang via unsplash