there’s a song
in my ribs
that only plays when I lie
I used to hum it
during the 3AM walks
along Broker’s graffiti walls
knees skinned from
falling into
people
the guy with the buzzcut
told me I smelled like
clove and
longing
he never texted back
but I saved the napkin
the ghost of who I was
flickers
behind gas station glass
and I leave
without change
-Ren