In desperation,
I leave words carved
into IHOP napkins
and left on nightstands.
I would carve into the western
cedar, but my pen
is dull. I leave
with words dripping
down the hall in carbon-
dioxide crystallized
in blue-green,
hard-hit carpet and stains.
I will never come here again.
We should be ashamed
of the beauty we committed,
heavy and humid at 4 A.M.
The oxygen will find us
each again.
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