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?