She looked at me
With glassy eyes
And half-rate pulse
And we shared some time
Twice as long or half
Depending on her pills
She never looked at me
With less passion
Than when she saw right through me
And that was often enough:
I felt like I was never there

A new memory.
One time, she came into the room and lay down
And whispered that she loved me
But she did not quite know why.
Intense as I may seem, I simply kissed her
And I lit her up a cigarette
Before admitting
That the feeling was mutual

We did not enjoy our love:
So impatiently casual
As it had to be
Yet killing itself
To try to be something more important
Which it is.

But only in retrospect.