On her third margarita, with ashes from 
a half lit cigarette falling like
factory soot,
words fell out of her drunken mouth and
crashed to the floor
He, barely sober, tossed his Marlboro,
ground it out along with 
her unformed thoughts,
no apology came as he spent his cab
fare on her fourth tequila and juice.

An umbrella went up with broken rods
and torn fabric, offered little
protection from the 
sudden downpour, in his other hand,
her uneasy fingers
Back to his loft and dirty sex 
A cobbled lane
much like a creek, the banks lined
with galvanized cans
Raindrops played on the lids
as the two strolled.

Automobiles with dirty faces and 
honking horns drowned
out much of their conversation,
little of what could be
understood,
“Here, slip this robe on, i’ll
hang up your clothes
to dry,”
“Thanks,” she muttered while 
striking a match, the 
cigarette steadied her nerves.

Looked at her with breasts half exposed,
threw her on the unmade bed,
the cigarette flew out a 
cracked open window,
a passerby ground it into 
wet chalk and numbered squares
he half disrobed her.

She ran her hand through his 
wet hair, he pushed into
hers, pressed hard on an
anticipating body, dug long nails
into his
Panes in a close window 
steamed up slowly,
outside lights became obscure.

Next morning, he reached over,
she was already up
fixing coffee and breakfast,
“How’d you like your eggs?
A smile covered his face like
shaving cream
waiting for a razor
“Sunny side up, thanks…”

A cobbled walk, greedily holding
onto remnants of rain,
slowly drinking as if it were
a last wish
Back to her place, a phone
number scribbled on the 
back of his hand
A kiss goodbye, he 
lit another city cigarette.

Copyright © 02/07/2014 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®