She drifted away with his cigarette smoke before he could catch her
In a green glass jar.
How long will you be gone, he asked,
Not looking up from violent but quiet scribbling in his book.
His pencil plundered a stick figure, a dead flower.
Till the silver on my anklet fades
Till black doesn’t hurt anymore
Till when the ship sails off my shoulder
Then I’ll be back for more, she said.
A knife glinted, his hand a ready, righteous Brutus
Her skin a sheen of love, glowing, nonchalant
Till he knifed a lost ship and tainted the brown of her shoulder
“No sailing away for this one. Ever,” he said
Grabbing her snake-hair and pouring her
As she sighed in relief, into the green glass jar.