sweltering fumes rose from block after block
and our heads swam with beer.
The dark kind, less like beer and more liquor.
I can smell the smoke on you, I said.
A long drag of summer.
A return to normalcy -
the other seasons, deviant.
Dead, dying or diseased.
My breathing set side by side with coughing.
Your dress hung off you like curtains
and you concealed your bagged eyes
with concealer and sunglasses.
You mourned, the days passed by without you noticing.
Our trysts revolved around sport
food and pieces of Orbit.
In rapid succession
our own orbit was elliptical -
at times close and others distant.
I wake up removed.
Clove clinging to cilia,
scotch served clean
and always regretful of the past.
Like putting on a sad song
and walking away from the music
unwilling to listen but needing it to be playing.
Scene bars with PBR.
Text messages and penitence.
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