September 19, 2006

12:42 a.m. smokes

She flicks a lighter.
It burns for less than a second.

Inhale,
the house needs to be cleaned,
and my shoes are too tight,
and I need to lose a few pounds
before summer comes.

He strikes a match.
It burns for less than a second.

Inhale,
eight hours until the deadline,
and I should call my parents,
and I need to figure out
what to do after graduation.

Exhale,
his sweater's blue,
and she walks on.

Exhale,
her hair is windblown and curly,
and he glances away.

Long after
the clicks of her high heels
have faded,

long after
he's gone back to typing
words that will not matter,

long after
"what if"
has been forgotten,
the tendrils of their poison curl
around each other
in the dark.


Spring 2005.

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