Singing Softly In My Glass

I was chain smoking because our night had ended too abruptly. Paused at that moment when he'd peeled time's dense skin from my bones. Waiting for him to come back and press play.

I was diving for the bottom to find a way out. Ever since the way I'd come in had changed the locks.

Too tired to beg. I just asked. Too naked to care I just waited for the darkness to offer me its clothes.

I may have waited too long.

So many apples to count. Both fallen and picked. So ripe and pleading to be bitten. Like we always are. Muted skins throbbing with the meat below. We wait. Are always waiting. To be tasted.

Like we always are.

Discarded.

Maybe it was always too late.