It’s in the evidence strewn
about. Ripped & written,
the open block drags
us back to the broken smoke scene.
You can still blame the black weather.
The late way I dragged you
kicking & screaming from
that sick junk cell. Together,
we rode toward the rip tide.
In a far off city your third eye
caught the last half shape paralyzed
in the doorway. Two coats, keys,
ring of skin trapped fast in a back
memory. There was your mouth
shining red just before dawn.
You broke the window & took
off. Closing my eyes was easy.