your urgent matters

only a few weeks into

it (whatever it was)

you came home

reeking of  

stained, soured hours

and stale smoke,

from the road

twisted in your sheets

as the door slammed

your hello

you pushed your tongue

feverishly inside me,
and my lips split red
against my teeth

didn’t even notice
the wet pillow, or

the damp on my cheeks

when finally,

you
were through

(how did you not see?) 
that night,
even the flowers were bleeding