Running to the cell,
my hands quiver like a dollar in a strip joint.
Her lips curl at my approach.
Our embrace synchronizes
the pumping of blood,
while the jailor's keys remain silent in the lock
between iron bars.
Her fragrance lingers
among the jealousy of fatigued criminals
like a fallen angel among deadly sins.
Her glance reveals her intentions,
as she returns my flask to my breast pocket.
We stagger down the empty sidestreets
intoxicated by the glare of a bipolar traffic light.
Our Passions and clarity coalesce
in the guise of a tumultuous rift
of broken glass and rancid guttersnipes.
My breath on her soft neck
whispers my misguided lack of regret
and screams my sincerest gesture of love.
