I'm struck by the romantic notion

of the two of us sharing a

cigarette.

Something so toxic and intimate

seems almost to pure

of a metaphor.

With that glowing red eye tracing

like the fire flies.

But,

I know this never happened

It was always to chaotic.

We could never sit still

always to concerned with everything

but one another.

Because

god forbid we should ever realize

how much we could never stand one another.

My blunt compulsion and your

careless pathology

left us both in a constant autonomic state.

Fringed nerves

bundle along your spinal column

I wonder where we went so wrong.