old habits die hard.

old milwaukee in a cold glass mug
on a hot summer day.
a crisp, yellow color and a
bitter sweet scent.
white froth hits your mouth and you
flip something on the grill.
“go get me a pack of cigarettes…
please.”
i always liked to open them and
sometimes i dreamt of their
smoky taste.
but as you lit up this time you told me
you were dying.
you breathed deep,
exhaled your life.
and i still wonder what it tasted like.

sun shining on her glass case.

she looks like a porcelain doll,
and has the morals of a sinner.
“do you want to share your feelings?”
“no, not really.”
but if you wind this key just right,
clockwise,
she’ll start to scream.