your words crumble on glistening concrete to find
my fingertips on mechanical glow. shattered hour
& a murmur: "this should be a better way to go."
liquor's cradle, your shell a rocking reflection in
the windshield. despair opens its passage towards
those who don't share it. me, a gulp of composure
at the night's breakage. "i know you hate drunks."
the crash would float above fire, remains in grey.
arm hanging to touch ground. to kiss your pathos.
Your words echo the texture of the wall behind the hydrant, floating and dream-like, but grounded in dirty reality.
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