Untitled #4

you're wearing

bright red lipstick

and a little black

dress but you

are a mess and you

can't even give the

taxi the right address.

You smell of cinnamon

and sugar mixed with

marijuana and when

you laugh I can see

the fillings in the

back of your mouth

and I resist the urge

to touch your cheek

and feel the curves

of your body beneath

your clothes.

I can taste smoke

at the back of

your throat

and I remember the

way you once wrote.

I think maybe

I'll love you

until this *******

has left my veins.

What was your

name again?

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