They broke up on the balcony, waves
beaten back by the beach
somewhere between words and stuttered
“buts” that led nowhere but.
All I wanted was a cigarette but
who could enjoy a slow death while love
ran out of breath below, air escaping
exhausted lungs, tired of fighting.
We’ll try to imagine their journey that ends
here between drying, pre-loved beach-towels,
thinking there must be uglier
places to start over.