The Jedi is dead
Now we're off to bed.
She's not mad about missing our date
Just the fact my shoulder still creaks
like a rusty gate.
I pour my thoughts into her,
as if they are rain
and she is a grate.
In the middle of the street
I sink
into her embrace
The whiskey isn't as bad as the cigarette taste
or
The cigarette isn't as bad as the whiskey taste
As we press our bodies together,
I shiver and shake
She responds
Turn the light off.
*So both of us can be black in this place.