Curses herself in the mirror
while brushing her hair

turns to a cigarette on the dresser
and remembers my hands
covering her eyes
coming through the doorway
of the third floor apartment
in mid summer
but when the air conditioner
stopped breathing
we did too
holding onto my last gasp
I knew
there are no goodbyes
for this sort of thing
and made my way
to the eastern shore

Lights the cigarette
burning the breath
once shared
on a mid town bus
stopped in downtown traffic
or midnight
in the passenger seat
facing the ocean front
and final breaths
coming through the doorway
of the third floor apartment

Exhales toward the window
into a haze
of independence
from all the pretty ones
you no longer love to hate
walking into distant daydreams
that slow the hours
into nights you wish
you could take back
in place of these nasty habits
developing between your fingers.