we're meant to be rushing,
scrambling to leave, but
i catch her in the doorway
smoking a cigarette,
watching me as I empty the mop bucket.
backdrop of a night-lit parking lot,
stars and streetlamps and
trash cans.
poisoned pearly exhales,
a tongue ring,
a smile.
.
.
i could stay a little longer.
.
.
.
a/n: i don't remember how to write poetry.