Amelia

She's run out of things to live for.
Teacups and shoes,
a hint of collarbone
through his shirt.

All day, the taste of longing
in her mouth.
Waiting for him to pass,
to giggle hot like a schoolgirl.

By midnight the world's diminished
to lights caressing the tollway.
Signposts that sing of a desperate paradise,
his cologne scraping the car's interior.

How she yearns in places
her body cannot reach.
Desire crackling the dash,
slicing the night like a scar.

The skyline sutured and frayed,
his textbook she drowned at the lake.
How every moon on a bracelet
corresponds with a bruise.