Beacon

If only you could breathe, I'd claim you.
Valentine?
With candy red lips, dripping, dripping
Feet toward the exit, caught in a backward glance
Your lips left a trail—
Not that I followed.

Flashes of crimson remind me of you
Like the spray of wrists
Reminds me of perfume.
Just as pretty and just as droll, I said.
Romance is for optimists.

You tasted the salt on your fingertips
And knew you were drowning then;
It rolled off your tongue like a whip left in view
Of the trigger.

So I'll sit with a glass
Was there something in the smile? The wine?
It was a high to see you; to be you—

If only you could speak, I'd leave you.