Friday, February 3, 2012

velvet fog

she tells me she had a poem
velvet fog, she says
and it sounds like her cologne
rich and soft and sour
on the tip of my tongue

she lost it over the accountant
inhumanity and bad city planning

i think about the fog
hanging low over cursed water
until it drags itself in the drink
a drunk girl's sleeve in spilled
three olives cherry vodka
moisture sticking the pile together
like a wet cat

she would have said something
more picteresque
more romantic
would have tucked the fog around me
for rest and sweet dreams

but lost it
to the accountant
the chihuahua
the traffic

i smear a drop of her cologne
on the inside of my wrist
and the smell curls around me
like my blanket fog

like a cat