[cento]

The bright sun was extinguish'd:
The blue black sky with its much-poked periods
Of stars shone with all their might.

I could taste her lipstick on the filter,
As our eyes flicked like a faulty screen
Under prickling stars: with stare, with curse.

I smelt latté mixed with fire on her breath
As she mouthed clichés with confidence:
Each catch of consonants packed with potential.

She told me how she fell to sleep
In a dirty blue chrysalis, of dreams and cold,
With the sound of his fists on the door.

The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper,
Smiling, recognising and going dark.
A single tear blistered the curve of her cheek:
She's in love with ideas, I'm in love when she cries.

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