Eh?

I can taste the air mixed with your stale cigarettes
spilling onto the pavement
of Gratiot Avenue,
where I found my head
staggering from your company in last night’s bed.
So I asked my mom,
and she said ‘Even you,
deserve friends less fleeting than fall, sweetie.’
And I can feel those leaves
snapping under her tire tracks.
I don’t blame them,
she’s a tough battle to win.
‘Well, Dawn, you always get burned.’
It’s daybreak,
and I’m riding too close to the sun again.