we'd walk with our noses up,
sovereign against the grey, moving sky.

we'd pay skinny women with wrinkles like canals
on their sagging faces,
with yellow teeth of ash and smoke,
and flitting eyes, buzzed off coke,
to buy us brandy and cigarettes
in the small gas-stations littered like filters
around town.

i'd convince you,
and a girl with silky hair like frozen rivers,
to run down in the safe enclosure of night
in suffocating fields, choking in ice
and reduce our clothing to dark shadows
scattered around the moon-reflecting snow,
and to run bare and naked,
with our ******* taut and heavy
against the bitter winds.

we'd be wearing heels
like deadly cliffs, thorns like
biting roses,
stealing little gulps from each bottle in a tall girls
liquor cabinet,
a tiny mouthful of
butterscotch ***,
bombay sapphire sliding down
achingly painful, dry gin exploding
our tongues.
a little bit of Tennessee whiskey,
it was always my favorite.

we'd crawl out looming windows
like dark, slanted mouths,
into the night
on top of a shrouded mountain,
silky underwear,
goosebump legs, and
celebrating her first real shot.

we'd be laying on mattresses under the
breathless stars,
eyes heavy, cement filled
and hazy with hash.

we'd be on my bed, listening to brand new,
because it reminds us of words unsaid,
and kisses that
wont be taken back.

smoke a cigarette for me darling, wont you?