do me a favor and be sure to tell her that i was the first person who took your breath away and the only one who reminded you how to breathe also might as well tell her that you still love me and you keep my heart in your jacket pocket near your cigarettes because you still aren't sure which one you you're addicted to.

I walked into the laundry room
to a couple folding into each other.
Her chartreuse camisole and his
evergreen boxers pined for a bough
break in the noise of twenty-something
cents rattling in the dryers.  
They talked about peeling off
and sorting each other's skin layers
by darks and lights, trying to find
a neutral blush they could blend on.  

My towels had three minutes
left on the spin cycle, so I walked past them into the dim-lit room, took
a seat on a dryer, and turned around
to face the cream brick wall and
pipes cutting on a diagonal, dividing
it into lights and darks.