i.

Baby's got those California dreamin' eyes that
are just two shades left of San Jose and just as sand soft.
He's got those Brooklyn lips
muddling sugar cubes and bourbon and bright red
cherry stems, all shy smiles in a West Side bar this short of
profane, and oh, you burn.

ii.

Flyers and missing posters:
My name, your mouth.
If found, please call.

iii.

He wipes me off the picture frames with
cold water and vinegar.
I leave my fingerprints everywhere:
on wine glasses and cigarette butts,
takeout menus and the window
leading to the fire escape.

this is my way of saying I am still here.
this is my way of desperate you will not forget me,
your hands still know me,
my name still lingers on your tongue --
but he still cleans the frames and
locks the window and
goes to sleep in a bed
I have never spent the night in.