hit the ground at last
she has a chip on her tooth
i told her, you have a
chip on your tooth,

the same one that a man
in a bar, german and underground, told her
Open your mouth, now run your tongue
over it. She did because one or two
or three beers told her it was OK,

the same that she drank when we ate,
me, the one with a spate of
freckles on my knees that she
noticed one morning in bed.

i cried because i didn't want
to leave again: It doesn't get easier
after a while, you know.