You can only see half your face when you press it against a glass reflection, wondering where the other half goes. Like evergreen ferns wrongly named, in the end they too will parch and crack like the smiles and various shoes that surround me as I lay on the cold, stone tiles thinking of all the names I have never known. You can dial my phone, with guitar calluses but the ring will just be an empty echo of all the unanswered calls that left us half-knitted sweaters and woolen scarves. The ones that only kept us warm long enough to blaze that last cigarette, lighting our way into the darkness. You can fade my coat and bleach my mane but I will never be a palomino in a dark jacket. So marry me and I swear, I’ll scream until every vinyl skips to repeat and that same song plays copying notes in your head. Watch my needles fall you’ll need them for the bonfires in the summer when you burn me away and roast the other skewered pigs on display, fruits of well thought deception and the thrill of the chase. Put me out with jazz music and your hollowed tree-trunk-promises so that only the smoldering is left. Shot’s fired. Here’s your twenty-one gun salute.