A smirk on my face
when the morning came
emblazoned with intent
to stretch you longer than
the lengths we had gone to in darkness.

Shouting in Johnston’s Court the night before,
I unpinned my tie and the unpinning
was pawn to your mouth—
slid out
then in
till my lips ate sharpness
in a flare of fingers and hair.

When a taxi encased my waving tie
in your white hands
slipping off into dark,
you became background
while I sat to the fore
in streetlight.

I only imagined you waking.
We smirked in different beds.