she's a mess and i know why. the last time i saw her there were trunks packed in the jetta with shirt sleeves jammed in hastily, keeping suitcases from closing and my heart from locking. gum and cigarette butts littering the sidewalk around my shoes, a feature film for my vision to focus on. now it's october and birthday leaves fill the streets like trash. she came back to wordlessly cancel the joint lease. that jetta sitting by the sidewalk full of that new guy smell, filling in the musty fiber between the places she used to arch her back and grip the seat. when she came her thighs turned to steel and melted around me. i burned up in the wreckage and she took no survivors. now it's midday and there are no secrets in the way her hips no longer sway and her hair is short and severe and her eyes are drawn into herself as she revs the engine and pulls away.