Sometimes it looks like you
have two different colored eyes
like one of those dogs
people love asymmetrically.

You’re the same rotten canine
             still smell like sex
sniffing out who’s next.
I tried to be your perfect prey.

Said a prayer that it wouldn’t end this way
and that was the asymptote of our affair.
My parents always said life’s not fair
                            in the concrete jungle. You
said you liked my messy hair, tangled in your fingers.
I liked your smog and the tentacles,
your uneven piercings,              you didn’t care.

A sideways maple sloping away from the sidewalk
puppy-eyed, small talk in the corner booth
your chalk outline outside on the pavement.
How has your morning been?
              How do you like your eggs?       It’s cold
and I shaved my legs. I’m still mourning
your truancy like the death of a second beta fish.