Shards of moonlight slice through my dash
weakened by long silent rain drops.
Sarah, tosses her blonde hair in half circles
bringing waves of Brian Wilson's “feel flows”
crashing off my thoughts of tainted blood.
She's still opaque behind heart shaped glassess, but
I've already seen the soft moles below her eye.
Newports and tangerine trident escape the rhythm.
Pabst blue ribbon and crooked art work is
passed through rolled up tin foil.
The click of my lighter glows the weeping
hairs on the side of her cheek.
Focusing on the melting numbers of the clock,
my eyes ignore imperfection.
Another number Drip and the thud of the car door will
leave me with only her silver hair clip.
Before I can spit another stylish fragment
She drives her hand through ashes
presses all of New York City on My neck..