Life in the Reds

Leaning against the counter
where the spoons are, as you know

some green stick was lit 
now the fumes are born with these lips
crescents with bends

we have the bends too

the window knows it
the blossom red of her hair
crackles with it
 
 and we sleep ever forgotten
alone as the cat scratching under the sheets
we have surpassed this.

Author's Note

tom waits,
"Smoke is blacking out the sun
At night I pray and clean my gun
The cracked bell rings as
The ghost bird sings and the gods"
one day, my poems will be that fitting.