hours the shade of wasting skin
roads paved the color of a month-old bruise
and you drive
with fog over your rearview mirror
the mercy afforded by winter and rain.
She receives you with grace
glinting in grim candlelight
dresses a dinner in spoiled romance
And in the convex depth of a spoon
a sheen of arsenic
it only kills
when you stop drawing the silver to your lips.