The end of 414

Written: 2011-2013 x Edited: 2024

The taste of smoke
chastises the bitter canyons of
wind-chapped lips.

Softened shoulders that step
through doorways
disguise their intentions;
needs withheld in their
lack of motion.

Begging for your question.
Begging for your distraction.

“It’s cold out tonight.”

Subtlety doesn’t work as well
when blood is thin
and jackets slip off.
Moistened leaves exhale
silently under careless steps;
not like drying tongues.
Not like bloodshot eyes.

Dead wood knows more than it lets on.
Drag, pass, repeat-
drag, pass,
repeat.