the sky breaks

your mother’s favorite

vase

and you grow up

believing

that nothing is worth

the lossage of dark rooms

and the cry

of teething infants.

lipstick stains napkins

that once held

the faith and chastity

of spare change

at the bottom of dormant fountains,

and the boy who

dripped love

into the caverns

of your spine has

left his jars of promise

empty for months now.

so while the stray cats

bathed in moonlight,

and bare toes scathed

those oblivious city streets,

you never dared whisper

to the body beside you

about the rusted waters

and how you felt

rusted too.