Twentieth.

Warming feet in the tub
stained with hair dye from a new guy
who I live with.
Grey nightgowns, grey ashes into water
PSFT. Psft. pfst.
It’s a good noise we make.

I don’t even like you that much.
Nightclubbing. And listening to
English Girls Approximately
and The Drug’s Not Working
in a full bed at 4 a.m.

Smoking more cigarettes
with people I’ve met
mere hours and days before.

And I don’t even miss you.
Not one single bit.
But oh,
look at you
now.

Best I’ve ever seen.