"Exit."

The slip of your delicate frame cavorts with demons,
strokes shadows of the moon
skipping through ether,
one step, two step
shuffling clouds
like a deck of cards
collapsing through time.

I light a cigarette
inhale fumes of death
enriched with arsenic,
breathe through rustic nostrils

my voice aching with every murmur

"I will follow, soon,
once the drip, drip, drip subsides."

My eyes look deeper

and you have gone

but so have I,
down the corridor and a taxi home.

I pour a bourbon and smile,
look to the mirror
choose not to cry

but enjoy the moment
tomorrow's end
and all she will bring.

© 2008 Michael J. Earnshaw