A poem dedicated to me

a dirty, poorly lit place
flourescents, neons, incandescents
red hues absorbed in to cracked concrete
messenger boys on bicycles, helmeted
dry girls
used up like the road they walk on
and ghosts of men
spiritless
running on junkie time
puddles make lakes
rainwater and guttered rivers
it was here that we did, for everyone
ourselves included (and wouldn't you?)
kissed like kids
she wanted to, so we did (and wouldn't you?)
the dark circled eyes, like mirrors
blank
car headlights showing only outlines as they crawled past
it was over before it began
and no one noticed
not even ourselves
"again, love," she said
coy, laughing
and again we did, for all eyes
shadows and stylisms
twisted pairs and lassiez faire
it ends and so do we
"again?"
raised eyebrows to punctuate the boredom
i shake my headand we seperate
a schism
that belies the bonds
bent, not broken
we sit there
empty and empathetic
pathetic, truely
lost, deep, dank--
dry girl --
steps back to the road
used up
we are no different, her and i
nor is the car, nor is the road

By Scott