JUNE 8TH

It felt like the end of everything (how naive of us)
when the bleached police lights backlit your boy-boned frame.

There were only three of them,
but words strung like singing diamonds
across your lips.

And I wasn't sure if such beauty was born of this stress,
your cloudy green-eyed intensity (only a flicker in the dark), or
backseat ecstasy.

I took them from you, with nothing in return but
the hope that I would return them.