forever
almost left your
wiry lips
moments before
I wore out my welcome

spent flares on the
roadside, we were
an attraction
third-degree fun and
games… oh the games

together we were
the grind of meth
washed down
bottomless

the dawn knew
our first names,
and our fetid personal
sense of
obligation

we were
abraded by the
jagged edge of
the exclamation point,
soothed by the aloe
of 2-hour rooms

we wore our tattoos
on the inside
next to our
pincushion hearts
names crossed out
repeatedly.

© Tom Watters  6/8/06