chipping away the dead grey rock
around violent-pink tourmaline with sweat
dripping from our brows.
tick,
tick,
tick.

i read your name in my cigarette smoke and turned my phone off.

lost,
boards squeek beneath handmade imported rugs,
fingers brush polished brass candelabra,
bulbs burst behind locked doors.
tick,
tick,
tick,
tick.

phones never turn back on,
smoke stains cheap wallpaper,
and eyes were never windows.