Sparks of a Liar
You smoke there, wrapped in the absence of moonlight.
Dare you look in the window?
You want in but not for me, spite
from an artless beast.
Lowered the blinds of the kitchen in time to
see the winks,
red sparks from a lighter give away your angle-
escaping shards of breath forewarn
how every dysfunction we suffered
is mine to untangle.
Little visible except the spark, the breath,
the dysphoria of your angle,
even that is probably a lie because you are artless,
deaf to the hovering dark
that has already crushed us.
A train whistles in the distant empty,
as the first flurry of winter comes
to help hurry you away.
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