In the inside pocket of your windbreaker
the windshield wipers that have poked through the windshield are napping
and glasses fall from the ceiling
when I turn off too suddenly
And something growls quietly
I lie that it's the motor
when in a gray sleepy city
a mouth retains the real reason

You strike a spark with your smile
that I answer by catching it
and my fear doesn't diminish
that tonight I'll burn to ashes

Nights are like the day's cover
they can't keep it from you
so you can read
or you can guess
what I didn't do
or what I did

Off-white gloves on the counter
that you pull from your hands and the day ends
Did you kiss me on the stairs
or did the wind fly over me laughing?

I don't know.