Watched him rock the lime in his palms,
squeeze and release,
pass back and forth.
He’d undress himself in the streets,
turn his back to me and slide out of his shirt.
I told him I loved the way he smelled.
Raw boy, unapologetic and transitory.
Because he’s always leaving me.
There was a brake in the
50 mile an hour night current,
for the deer that capered into headlights over asphalt.
Blushed with death and adrenaline
hours later we stood outside an apartment,
away from smoke and bash.
We talked about leaving.
He said he’d lead me.
I wanted to see the colors of all those doors in that neighborhood,
cracks in sidewalks,
and silhouettes behind window pane.
Honestly I could have used the sabbatical,
I have no idea how old I am,
or rather how old I’m supposed to be.
Watched him take a piss and ask me one last time.
Dreadlocked, grinning, his back caught in headlights.
Yes, I could have used the break.
But my boyfriend called me back inside.
