I suppose we’ll get drunk
Maybe that’ll drag me out of this funk
Of television screens and cheap food
An oh, so unforgiving mood

Fretting about the smallest things
Of raw chicken & bankrupt kings
Avoiding sentimental ties
I’ll settle with the unkempt lies

At a funky record store
We found on a corner
I sat down on the floor
& chatted up some foreigner

At dark
With cigarettes and warm beer
We stumbled to Alamo Park
& watched the lights disappear

At dawn
I woke up wrapped around you
You kissed me and yawned
& then it hit me, and I knew

Today you found me candy-
                        coated on the kitchen floor.
A cigarette trembling
                        in between two of my fingers.
You tried to pick me up,
                        but my skin and bones were no more.
Though I'm nearly gone,
                        your idea of me makes me linger.

And when the days turns to dust,
                        I will still be here for you.
We are both broken people,
                        conceived by our own reprieves.
So do not pick me up,
                        just lay with me like you used to.
And hopefully neither of us,
                       will feel the need to leave.

Hearts race as skin melts with skin.
Fingers slow dance
across heaving backs and chests,
drawing pictures on hips and necks.
I feel your fingertips and breath,
all over me,
tight against.