When You Leave a Woman Behind

by November 12, 2010 0 comments

I walk steadily
like the rowing of an oar in the ocean,
going nowhere,
but stretching limbs out like saltwater taffy.
My teeth smell like new toothpaste,
that we supplemented by the French kiss
of dental floss and dollar brand mouthwash.
Today is a memory
waiting to be creased and kept in your khakis.
The moon is a smashed obelisk
left to hang over the
arching brows of your drunken yells.
We fight for five blocks
your heels clicking the cement like a metronome
made out of cheap rum
and shoddy eyeliner.
I leave you on the corner to catch the first bus out of here
as if we both don’t know you already have a round trip ticket.
Pockets resting like cadavers in my jeans,
wishing to hug you.
The taillights are a harmless smolder
of the fire I left behind.

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