by Maria de Lima

I, Mercury

Kai sends me a new demo tape and follows up with a phone call asking me if I’ve heard from Damia. No, I tell him, she’s been quiet for a couple weeks. The phone rings out and she doesn’t reply to messages. And no, I haven’t called the police, coz I’m holding onto the last message she sent me. She’ll be away for a month, followed by an all caps, DO NOT WORRY. Which, inevitably, leaves me drowning in the stuff.

I tell him I’ve been coping by reading unsolicited phallic-phone-poetry pinged to me through dating apps. 

dip it low, 

lick, and 

suck my dick

Kai counts the syllables speculating it’s a haiku. It reminds me of a pearl, I say, grit jabbing into the soft flesh of my thumb wanting to become a pretty, gleaming bead.