The Art Of Leaving

She marks him like a crime scene,

red on white, evidence of touch,

of teeth, of hands that said stay

but never did.

He pulls her close,

presses his mouth to the base of her throat,

breathes her in like he’s trying

to memorize her.

She lets him.

Lets him think she’ll be there tomorrow,

lets him believe this isn’t just another

almost-love story

that ends before morning.

She leaves before the sheets cool,

before the city wakes,

before either of them

has to lie.