This windy night
smells like marijuana,
despite the snowy rain
and the rainy snow after.

Her mild annoyance
is hiding behind her face.
She lies on my bed reading,
flowing gently into the night.

This hollow apartment
is a pipe of secondhand
smoking. Anyone, anywhere
can choke us to the brim.

Only one more month,
she just said, one more
month and we’re gone,
like forever, for real.

I’m sitting by her side,
staying silent and sad,
and writing this down.
Yes, we’ll be gone.

{END}

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