not here for the
inspired word
or for any
reason at all
just smoking a quiet cigarette on this
hot September night.
I take a draw
and exhale death
the woman of the past
somehow seem to appear
by accident, out of mutual friends or
seemingly simple facebook connections.
love in sandals
love in high heels
love in shoes worn and walked in
over and over
again across
our heavy
hearts.
they've got us caged like this,
pacing back and forth
against seemingly
vertical
walls.
the good times were the hard times.
it was the learning
and the final act
of letting it
all go with great pride.
there is now a siren outside,
that ends suddenly and
so does my second cigratte.
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