Sour Breath

With beer on her breath and whiskey on his tongue,
they showed themselves numbly to one another.
Her temper had always been flamboyant, and his erotic.
They once fit.

With memory in her heart and anger in his veins,
they sat quietly, not knowing what to say.
He didn't know how to care, she had never understood that.
They were stuck.

With peace on her skin and confusion in his head,
they walked past one another, not stopping.
Her organs stopped aching, his had never started.
They didn't look back.