She takes a drag of her cigarette,
Smoke swelling in her lungs.
The cancer will eventually grow there
But for now it remains in her heart.
Growing
Smearing the muscle with rain
And fog.
She’ll try to scratch the poison out
Replace it with something beautiful
Like forget-me-nots or her favorite books
But she’s not in control of how this ends,
Of how the earth rotates.
It will pour in December,
The rain seeping through her skin
To her ribs
Where moss will grow
She’ll take cover in his secrets
Shielding herself from hers.
But the cancer is thriving
Her words becoming scarce; like the blood
in her veins
Or his kisses.
She’ll tiptoe around his mind, trying not
to stir him
Just tonight she’ll rest behind his
charcoal eyes.