Detroit dropped away after the big band wedding, where The Sheik of Araby climbed the hot pine hall & the two of us killed a bottle of Laphroaig that we bought by the church from the bulletproof glass man.
The next day, she got the call - he had died in her room. The marriage began to sag at that exact moment - something failed, something failed, something closed that never reopened. I was alone breathing her desperate air, her secrets almost off the tongue, almost vulnerable, but left unshared, carried alone, held away from me - I found it out the hard way.
I still feel it, the green empire of the reception night punctuated by her lipsticked cigarettes, & the trumpets calling both of us back inside for last call.