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.