The last time I saw you was the night I quit smoking.

I feel like an impostor with these drinks in my belly and my hand on his shoulder. Red face, red face, I remember our unease and your bitter hums. I promised you my shoes. Paint my face like a whore, like you’re still here, like words will never matter anymore. I ring the blues, I don’t hold together these fissures at night. I wipe my face like I was a warrior once, and a man on the corner tells me I am beautiful. We are more than beautiful.

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