The smell of old beer and sweat, smoke on her lips,
night sags on her shoulders, and her eyes,
gone, gone into a brown haze bleeding
into glittered cheeks and lashes. Me,
tired from boxing angels and arguing with god,
I’ve got nothing to say, just a grumble and prayer,
doesn’t matter, there’s little spirit left in me.
All my thoughts wave white surrender flags,
they’re not coming out as “OK, I love you”,
just a simple “good-bye”... good enough.
Innocence has no place here. Bonds are broken.
Experience taunts, hell, it laughs “told ‘ya”.
I remember writing songs of the Shulamite,
challenging Solomon to better loves: no more.
She thinks the black outs are freedom.
So I tell her she’s beautiful, live a good life,
I don’t have the time.
She mumbles something about “LOVE”.
I don’t have the stomach for this,
so I kiss her on the cheek and leave.
She leans over a table and moves
around the salt and pepper shakers,
forgetting for a moment I was ever there at all.
