They serve Pit-cooked pork Says the sign Beneath the mossy oaks Of Alligator Swamp, Where vines ... [+]
your macbook open on untreated pine coffee brimming with a milky fern cashmere sweater hugging your wrists, the sea an empty blue past picture windows home to a single seagull; always they smile at you, fellow stock people diverse in perfectly arranged utopia, their laughter superficial, conversation that would pass no Turing test; still when the sepia leaves of the kodak autumn fall from the trees in dancing whorls round two of you in the fading light and they touch your hands, your lips, hold you in warm embraces on rumpled sheets gray-white on beds in stormdusk light(n)ing framing your pe