It was not one of our nights together.
I kissed her goodbye, breathing perfume.
My thoughts, squintier than my eyes, never
said a word, but the mind did assume --
things that are wrong. Deader than bone.
Like broken glass in a certain slant of sun
will ignite what has no heat of its own
suspicion gave vent to the one
question I should have never asked her.
You're seeing someone else? Tell me who.
Wrong sentences altogether. And we were
never the same since. It was shampoo.
-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --