To the Cigarette Girl

there are plenty more x’s inside of me.  streetlights in parenthesis, italics. we need more Busters. what you’ve got: menthol, taller than me.  I would like to be an L, I think.  mailbox with only a little graffiti. prepared for rebirth, bloody as that must be. I cannot be held I’m quicksilver and apology, so fast and gone. refrain: spraypaint and come. dis-and-mis-connection, circles of erased colors, colors in a pile. scrawl where there ought to be hieroglyphs, sun was to follow.  wet and dement my skin with you, expressed across bone and broken. I want to be a language               you can teach me.