Dried Kisses

Courtenay's Corner

after Frank O’Hara

nighttime is not blue
it is a black olive with
a frosted window
a sommelier pours the
stars onto our taut shoulders

resting on amber flames
the heaving croaks of Bogart
whisper in my ear
from Paris to New York—I
left my kisses there

Published initially on Joe Haward’s Blog.

Published by Courtenay's Corner

Courtenay S. Gray is a writer from the North of England. You’ll find her work in an array of journals such as A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Misery Tourism, Expat Press, Red Fez, and many more. She will often post on her blog: www.courtenayscorner.com Twitter: @courtenaywrites Instagram: @courtenaywrites

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