Knees skipping around on tar-traced street corners,
blood sleeping like the wine in DRIVER'S cup.
Purple-blue bruises boil over into the left lane-
Like the car that hit her.
Swerving, cruising, napping away.
Gentle hum and reckless sways turn into a
Crunching thud, splattering what COULD be a puddle onto
the roads.
Slippery smooth frost, lover, except winter was now called
DRUNK...

Knees the color of a powdered apricot-
Red POOLING around the body...
Past the legs..,
Into hell, 'cause her body would never be with her soul again.

And he
KEPT
ON
CRUISING.