A few days, weeks at best.
Make the most of it. Drink
from over ripened mangoes,
from oranges burst open
from the heat. Alight on sticky
rinds. Drink from corpses
decomposing, bloated
in the sun. Dance
across a dead man’s face,
proboscis lapping purge
fluid from a slipped nostril.

Fly away on paper wings.
I’ll love you for always.