i wrote you a love letter
on the back of this napkin
that you gave me for my coffee and eggs
while i lit my first cigarette

i don't ask for much, nor do i ever intend to
all i can say is that maybe, somewhere in me, ive wanted you back
here with me

bleeding in time with you was difficult but we managed
we clotted our wounds with debris from the hurricane because we had no skin left to speak of