What do I write
when the ink has seemed to freeze.
I'll stay up until 2 -
or something like that -
trying to get
some words to drip.
These sleepless nights
leaving me with the wonder
if my veins are imprinted in your heart
as yours are in my skin.
Slips of promises
that twinkle in our eyes
seeming to be strangers.
What is running through these memories.
"Cigarettes are nasty"
smoke flows out of us
onto that slab of concrete
we called home.
Burn marks
leaving the same scar
as your touch.