Stinky Fish

Miles, texts, and tickets
but I find you on the street
duffel buffetting, grin dangling

Here: have bread. Here: take rest.
We fill our cups
cider and whisky

you garnish our spread
with stories
and snarling comb

after the 3rd day
a fish begins to stink

we elope into family
exchanging allowances of time
knitting of ourselves a territory but

It's not always your
pipe to smoke not always your
turn to speak not always your home

you linger--
a mustard stain scent
curdles my goodwill