Never look back, you said, smiling,
and running both your hands through your hair
lifting it up and away from the nape of your neck —
a gesture I always loved.

You’re beautiful, and you made me feel as if I cared.
The moments aren’t waiting for you now
striking matches from a book,
one by one: Steerskull Motel, Fate, Texas, with a longhorn logo
in white reversed out on blue.

We took a cab, drifting sleepily away from the event.
There were fireworks among the high rise,
pretty shock and awe, a glam catastrophe.
Lights reflected on the windscreen and in the wing mirrors
as we drove through the glittering ruins,
as jet-lag beckoned and another weather,
and my hands seemed to hold shadows.

No, I won’t, I said.

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