idolatry

it got cold this morning 

after you shut the door;

the breeze was rain

and i cursed under

the quiet you left with

goodbyes,

wishing you had rolled

me a cigarette. 

my impropriety is sung

through drops hitting

curtains, dotting white

to push for

a clarity.

the rain comes, as it always

does, as i am staring at the 

crosswalk, thinking

<<green means go>>

i ripped apart the roof 

of my mouth biting back 

lithographs of summer 

fruits i notice on your

walls -- your walls

my chair

your bed

my pillow.

i am tonguing the sore spots

alternating salt water on 

my cheeks -- lacking the

audacity to laugh. 

berating the breakdown of little 

talks and papers

of her everywhere

and papers of me

on the 

shelf.

you cried after we finished

your mouth quivered in the shower

alternating your hard streams

boyz bring chairs under the 

cover of hard plastic

girls smoke cigarettes

like women and glance

to seem elegant.

i look at you and you

are far away.

humming to kill your quiet, i 

wonder if i am still